


The Skies Above Are Blue

by Trelkez



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Romance, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 95,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trelkez/pseuds/Trelkez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a wedding DJ. Stiles just happens to go to a lot of weddings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scott & Allison

"Breathe," Stiles said, waving a hand to indicate that Scott should put his head between his knees. "Deep breaths, come on, you can do it."

"I'm not freaking out," Scott said to the floor, shaking his head. "I'm not freaking out. I'm not—"

"Sure you aren't." Stiles circled to crouch down in front of Scott, dangling his arms over his knees. "Yeah, totally, I see it. Not freaking out at all."

" _I'm not_ ," Scott insisted, glaring at Stiles. "I just — I forgot to watch that YouTube tutorial Lydia sent me about how to tie a bowtie and — I don't know how to do it, and if I can't even learn how for _my wedding_ does that mean I'm going to mess up bowties _for the rest of my life?_ "

"Oh my god, _chill_ ," Stiles said. "I'm pretty sure she's going to love you even if your bowtie looks like crap, which it really, really does, but don't worry, I can fix it. All right, no, I can't fix it, I didn't watch the tutorial either, but I'll find Lydia and _she'll_ fix it."

"I wasn't talking about bowties," Scott admitted. 

"Yeah, I got that, buddy," Stiles said, giving him a pat on the shoulder before standing. "Are you going to be good here if I leave you alone for a few minutes to find Lydia?"

"Yes," Scott said, unconvincingly. 

Stiles poked his head out into the hallway, looking for another member of the wedding party, or a trustworthy-looking random passerby, anyone. Danny! Thank god. 

"Danny, thank god," he said, frantically signaling for him to come into the room. "Do you know how to tie a bowtie? We're at sea here, it's pathetic."

Danny took one look at Scott and sighed, shaking his head. 

"Stand up," he said. Scott shot up off his chair, gratefully handing Danny his tie. "I thought Lydia was going to teach you how to do this."

"Yeah, there was homework, we skipped it," Stiles says, giving Danny a _what can you do_ shrug and a grin. "You got this? I need to go talk to Lydia."

"We're good here, go," Danny said. 

"Thanks, Danny!" Stiles called out as he left, backing into the hallway—

—Where he immediately collided with a pretty brunette and her enormous camera, stumbled back into the wall, and knocked over a tacky pedestal and a tackier pot full of fake vines. 

"Oh, man, sorry, sorry," Stiles said to the fake vines, frantically getting everything back into place before anyone else could see. Except — oh, crap. He swung around, belatedly remembering the woman he'd knocked into. "Your camera! Did I—"

Her camera was obviously fine, given that she'd lifted it and was clicking pictures of him flailing around over the fake vines. 

"It'll live," she said. "How is the décor?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said with as much dignity as he could manage (not much). "Excuse me." 

He thought he heard her laughing as he escaped down the hall. Fine. If he were her, he'd probably laugh at him, too. 

*

"Are you with the wedding?"

Derek glanced up from his laptop, pushing his headphones down around his neck. There was a redhead in a pink bridesmaid's dress standing in front of him, looking him up and down.

"I'm working the wedding," he said. She looked vaguely familiar. Maybe she'd been there when they'd met with Scott and Allison. 

She pursed her lips. "Is that what you're wearing?"

He looked down at his clothes, up at the pinched expression on her face, and back down at his clothes. He was wearing the same white dress shirt under the same charcoal vest and trousers he wore to most weddings; he knew the dress code for this one, and there was nothing wrong with anything he had on, so what the hell?

"You're going to clash," she said, stabbing a finger at his tie. "Take it off."

Derek just stared at her, eyebrows climbing. 

" _You're going to clash with the flowers_ ," she hissed, clearly on the brink of a meltdown. He'd seen more than his fair share of wedding meltdowns, but this was the first one that involved his tie clashing with the wedding color scheme. If she didn't look like she could and might kill him, he'd already be telling her to fuck off. Politely.

As it was, he unknotted his tie and pulled it free, silently holding it up to show her how very much he wasn't wearing it anymore. 

She lurched forward like she was seriously considering ripping the tie out of his hand. He had a split-second to wonder if they were about to have a tug-of-war over it before something else drew her attention, someone else. 

"Stiles," she said, redirecting all that intensity at a hassled-looking man in a tux. Derek took advantage of the moment to quietly tuck his tie into his computer bag, out of sight. 

"Lydia!" Stiles looked relieved to see her, which immediately made Derek doubt his judgment. "Do you have my index cards? Scott said he thought he saw you take them."

"You shouldn't _need_ index cards," Lydia said, sounding slightly unhinged. "You're going to look ridiculous reading off cards, Stiles, you should have had it memorized."

Stiles blew out a breath, cheeks puffing out, and took a step toward her, demonstrating a real lack of self-preservation instincts.

"What is with everyone _but me_ freaking out right now, it's opposites day," Stiles said, making placating gestures with both hands. "Look, I promise you I have my speech memorized, but if I freeze up and forget my lines in front of everyone, I'm gonna need my cards, so can you please just give them back to me?"

"I just want this to be perfect," Lydia said, a line Derek had heard so many times that the words were now virtually meaningless. 

"Hey, hey, come here," Stiles said, settling his hands on her shoulders but not, Derek noted, attempting to pull her in for a hug. "Everything is going to be fine, what are you worried about? Is Allison freaking out?"

"No," Lydia muttered. 

Stiles eyed her critically. "Are you freaking out on Allison's behalf because she isn't freaking out and that freaks _you_ out?"

"Stop saying 'freaking out,'" Lydia snapped, folding her arms. 

"Okay, I will." Stiles dropped his arms to his sides. "And you're going to give me back my cards, and stop — panicking all over the lobby, right? Because if you're frightening _me_ right now, I can only imagine what you're doing to unsuspecting—" He stopped, doing a double-take at Derek. "Guys who are really — are you with the wedding?"

"I'm the DJ," Derek said, drumming his fingers against his headphones. "I'm waiting to set up."

"Huh," Stiles said, staring at Derek. 

Lydia rolled her eyes, stomping off. "I'm going to check in on Allison," she called back. "We're going to get behind schedule if we don't get moving, come on."

"Yeah, be there in a sec," Stiles said absently. "Do you have the YMCA?"

"Yes," Derek said, silently adding, _unfortunately_.

"No, no," Stiles said, waving his hands. "Next time someone asks you, 'do you have the YMCA?' Just say, 'no, sorry, completely slipped my mind this time.' I can't be held responsible for what'll happen on the dance floor if you play that, Scott might put someone's eye out. I know what you're thinking—" Derek doubted that very much. "It's a little hypocritical of _me_ to accuse anyone else of being a danger to others, but the YMCA has an unholy power over that guy, it has to be seen to be believed."

"Scott's the groom," Derek said. 

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, Scott McCall."

"Then I guess if he asks me to play it, I'll play it," Derek said. 

"I'll give you five bucks," Stiles tried. 

Derek's mouth twitched. "Your friend is paying me more than five bucks."

"Well, maybe he won't think of," Stiles said, and then he startled, swiveling toward the hallway Lydia had gone down. "Oh, crap." He rubbed a hand over his hair, grimacing. "I was supposed to ask her to fix my tie."

"I wouldn't," Derek said. "She's having a thing about ties right now." 

Stiles' eyes flicked down to Derek's throat and up again, his brow creasing. "What?"

"Forget it," Derek said, shaking his head. "You really don't know how to tie a bowtie? Shouldn't you have learned that _before_ the day of the wedding?"

"There was homework," Stiles said awkwardly, tugging at the mess he'd made of his bowtie. "We — I'm just glad I remembered the rings, can we be grateful for all the things I _didn't_ forget to do? I'm doing pretty good right now, even if I'm the only one who thinks so."

Derek closed his laptop and set it on the chair next to him, standing. He reached out toward Stiles, who jerked back reflexively, eyes widening.

"Hey, what, what are you—"

"Do you want my help," Derek said slowly, gesturing at Stiles' bowtie, "or don't you?"

"I don't even know your name," Stiles said. Derek had no idea how his name was relevant to Stiles' bowtie, and he gave Stiles a look that hopefully said as much. "Right, yes, help would be good, please, I have no idea what I'm doing."

"I can tell," Derek said, moving in closer, pulling the knot loose and tugging on the pale pink silk to reposition the ends. He and Stiles were roughly of a height, and this close up Stiles' eyes were huge, flicking back and forth across Derek's face, his throat clicking as he swallowed. "My name is Derek."

"Stiles," he said, gesturing at himself. "I mean, I'm Stiles. Stilinski. I'm the best man. In the wedding, that you will be at, laying down the beats. Or, knowing Scott, laying down the best of wedding reception cliché. No offense, I'm sure your own musical taste is wide and varied. Unless it isn't and you _like_ reception cliché, in which case, to each his own."

Derek tied Stiles' bowtie while he rambled, the backs of his fingers brushing Stiles' throat now and then, catching the vibrations from his nonstop flow of words. The tie matched Lydia's dress exactly, which probably matched the flowers exactly. Derek had no idea how the green and purple tie in his bag clashed, but he wasn't about to risk Lydia's ire by putting it back on. 

"Was Lydia yelling at you? I thought I heard her yelling. She's kinda tense right now, but don't worry, she'll mellow out later. I hope." He sounded doubtful. "She's a scary perfectionist on a good day and Allison has been really chill about all of this, it's been driving Lydia up the wall. I expected her to freak out today, but my money was on her melting down at the catering staff, not the DJ. Sorry."

Derek shrugged, glancing up to find Stiles watching him, all nervous earnestness and warm brown eyes.

He could feel Stiles' breath on his cheek. 

"It's fine," Derek said, hastily letting go of Stiles' tie and stepping back. "This isn't my first wedding."

"Right," Stiles said, staring at him for a moment longer before abruptly looking away, the tips of his ears turning bright red. "Right, good, I — I need to go get Scott married, it's a thing I'm doing today, so I'm going to — go."

"Okay," Derek said, his mouth curving up on one side. 

Stiles muttered something under his breath that sounded a little like _oh, man, unfair_ , and then he headed off in the same direction as Lydia, stealing a glance back at Derek before he disappeared down the hallway. 

Derek scrubbed a hand over his face, dropping back down onto his chair. Had he really just — he had, all of that had really happened. 

He hadn't actually meant to hit on Stiles. Had he? He'd _tied his bowtie_. That hadn't exactly been subtle on his part, so obviously he had meant to do it. Maybe. 

Stiles hadn't seemed to mind.

"No," he muttered to himself, dragging his laptop back over and yanking his headphones up. "No, no, absolutely not." 

He had a feeling that if he wanted to flirt with Stiles at the reception, on purpose, Stiles wouldn't be averse to it, but — no. He wasn't going to do that. He didn't hit on people at weddings, and right now he wasn't in the business of hitting on people, in general. 

He had no idea _how_ to flirt with Stiles without looking like an idiot, anyway. When it meant something — when _he_ meant it — his flirting skills were virtually nonexistent. 

Not that he was going to. 

Absolutely not. Very bad idea. 

*

"Dibs on the DJ," Stiles said as he swung back into Scott's room, missing a step when he realized the brunette photographer was in there with them. She was staring fixedly at her camera, biting her lip so hard it looked painful. "Oh. Hi. We meet again. Sorry about — you know."

"It's fine," she said, sounding a little choked. "Pretend I'm not here."

"Can do," he lied. He was terrible at pretending people weren't looking at him, he had it on good authority that getting decent candids of him was hell. "Anyway, yeah. Danny, dibs on the DJ, hands off." 

"I brought a date," Danny said, which was news to Stiles. Was Danny seeing someone? He bookmarked that for later, because right now, the pressing issue was—

"I guarantee you your date is not as hot as Derek," Stiles said, sounding way too dreamy, like a fourteen-year-old girl ogling a picture of Jonas brother. Did fourteen-year-old girls still ogle Jonas brothers? Probably not. "But that isn't a slight on your date. I don't think there's _anyone_ as hot as Derek. Derek might not even be as hot as Derek, I'm honestly concerned that I hallucinated the entire thing and when I see him again later, if he exists, he won't be nearly as hot as he is right now, in my head."

The photographer was having a coughing fit.

"Uh, Stiles," Scott said, glancing at the photographer and back at Stiles.

"No," Stiles said, holding up his hands. "Let me dream, Scott. Derek the smoking hot DJ can reject me just fine on his own, later, after we get you married. Until then—"

"Stiles—"

"—I'm going to be over here, fantasizing about—"

" _Stiles_ ," Scott interrupted, sounding desperate. "Can we not talk about him? Right now?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Stiles said. "Yeah, we're all about you today, dude, sorry. I just — _hot_. Sorry. Done now."

Danny glanced at Stiles' bowtie. "Did Lydia fix it for you?"

"No, that was Derek," Stiles said, hand flying up to his neck.

Danny's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"

"I'm going to go take more pictures of the bridal party," the photographer said, and bolted out of the room, almost slamming the door behind her in her haste to be out. 

"Weird," Stiles said, frowning after her. "And, yeah, seriously, he — sorry, no, we're on Scott now, I'll tell you all about it later."

Scott had a hand over his face, and he was pointedly not looking at Stiles.

"Oh my god, Stiles," Scott said, words muffled by his fingers. "That was his sister."

"What? Whose—" Stiles' stomach dropped. " _Derek's_ sister?"

"Yes," Scott said, shaking his head. "Derek Hale's sister. Laura Hale."

"Only you, Stiles," Danny said. 

*

People started trickling into the reception hall after the ceremony, most of them making a beeline for the open bar. Derek didn't see Stiles yet — not that he was looking for Stiles — but he knew it'd be a while before the wedding party came in; Laura had to photograph them from every possible angle first. 

He hadn't seen Laura since they'd arrived. She tended to keep busy at least until the dancing started, which meant he had some time yet to work on his _no, I didn't semi-unintentionally hit on any groomsmen today_ face. 

Derek was so focused on _not_ thinking about Stiles that he didn't realize someone was standing in front of his table until they cleared their throat, startling him. 

"Hi," said a tallish, attractive guy in a blue tie. Not a member of the wedding party, then. "You're the DJ?"

"Yes," Derek said, eyeing him. "Music won't start for another hour, but if you have a request, I can write it down."

"No request," the guy said, unsubtly checking Derek out. "Do you have a card?"

"Sure," Derek said, handing the guy his card. "Are you planning an event?"

"No," the guy said, tucking Derek's card into his pocket. "Thanks."

He walked off without another word. That was ... different.

A couple minutes later, Derek spotted him near the back of the hall with a laptop out, something that looked very much like Derek's business card propped up against the screen. 

Derek craned his neck, trying to see the guy's laptop screen better over the steadily increasing crowd of people. Was that Google? Was he being Google-stalked _at_ a wedding?

A blonde in a tight red dress came up to his table, giving him a wide, distinctly predatory smile.

"You're Derek, right?" She said, hands on her hips. 

"Yes," he said warily, not sure where to look: the guy with the computer who might or might not be stalking him, or the _second_ scary woman to attempt to physically intimidate him this afternoon. What the hell was with this wedding? 

"Derek the DJ," she said, like there might be another guy named Derek behind the DJ table. How did she know his name, anyway? Maybe she'd heard it from the McCalls. 

"Yes," he said again, giving up on the guy for with the computer — for now — and giving her his full attention. "Music won't start for—"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

He stared at her silently, hoping that would make her go away. This wasn't even the least subtle way he'd ever been hit on at a wedding, and usually he was a little smoother about handling it, but Jesus Christ, the reception wasn't even in full swing yet and it felt like there were sharks circling him in the water. 

She tilted her head, blonde curls spilling over her shoulder. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

He took a deep, steadying breath through his nose, squared his shoulders, and summoned up the most charming of his catalog of fake smiles. 

"Let's start over," he said. "Yes, I'm Derek. I'm the DJ. Music doesn't start for an hour, but if you have a request, I can write it down."

"Stop that, it's terrifying," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Is that supposed to be a smile? You look like you're going to eat me."

"You're one to talk," he muttered. 

She tapped the table to emphasize each word. "Do. You. Have. A. Boyfriend?"

There was a diamond on her ring finger. Not hitting on him, then, so — again, what the hell?

If he were a better person, or maybe just a more professional one, he would've taken that diamond as his cue to pour on the charm; Laura would've wanted him to. As it was ... he already wasn't sure he could handle another wedding with these people. 

"Why do you care?" He said bluntly, folding his arms. 

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why won't you tell me?"

He glanced over the room, looking for someone who could get rid of her, anyone.

Stiles was already headed toward them, scowling. It wasn't the most impressive scowl Derek had ever seen, but when the blonde saw him coming, she jerked back from the table like it was on fire. 

"Erica," Stiles said, not so much as glancing at Derek. "What are you doing?"

"Placing a request," she said unconvincingly, flipping her hair back.

"I don't believe you," Stiles said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Leave him alone."

Erica gave Derek one last, threatening glare, and headed off to join the guy with the computer. Great, they were joining forces. That didn't make Derek feel creeped out or irritated at _all_.

Stiles still wasn't looking at him. Derek didn't know why that bothered him, but it did. 

"Sorry," Stiles said to the carpet, rubbing the back of his neck. "Word travels fast, I guess."

Derek frowned at him. "What word?"

"That — er — nothing." Stiles was blushing again. Derek really wished he didn't find it so fucking cute. "Just — sorry. I'll get them to leave you alone."

"Okay," Derek said, deciding not to ask. "Are pictures done?"

"No, not yet, I think Laura is going to be out there with Scott and Allison for a while." Stiles' blush deepened. "Your, um, your sister Laura."

Derek had no idea what that was about. Had Laura said something to Stiles? Was Stiles — shit, was Stiles interested in _Laura?_ Had Derek read the situation entirely wrong, before? 

Stiles peered up at him. "Have you talked to Laura? Today?"

"Not since we got here," Derek said. 

"Oh." Stiles sounded incredibly relieved. Just like that, the weird carpet-staring shoulder-hunching awkwardness melted away, and he smiled at Derek, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I saw Laura talking to Erica, earlier."

"Oh, god," Derek said before he could stop himself. Stiles' smile widened into a bright, cheerful grin. 

"Yep," he said, rocking back on his heels. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself. "Looked like they hit it off. I have a feeling we'll be seeing you again."

Oh. Right. Derek had just been handed an excuse to see Stiles again. If he wanted to. Which he didn't. 

"Maybe," Derek said, glancing at Erica. She was standing over the cyberstalker's shoulder, peering at his laptop. "I don't think she likes me very much."

"Probably not," Stiles admitted. "Erica doesn't like _anyone_ very much. But she likes your sister, and Lydia likes your sister, so — as long as you don't mortally offend anyone tonight, I think you're good to go."

"For better or worse," Derek grumbled. He hadn't meant that as a wedding joke, but Stiles laughed anyway. He had a distractingly nice laugh: the sound of it was sort of goofy, but he laughed like he seemed to do everything, with his whole body, and he beamed at Derek like a ray of fucking sunshine. 

"Do you have any requests?" Derek asked, sounding more than a little desperate. 

He didn't want to like Stiles. He didn't want to ask Stiles out. It was nothing personal; Stiles could be Paul Walker and Matt Bomer rolled into one and Derek still wouldn't want to ask him out. Stiles could speak six languages and rescue puppies for a living and Derek would _still not want to ask him out_ , because Derek wasn't ready to date anyone, he knew this to be true, so Stiles needed to stop looking at Derek like that and go away. 

"Do I have any requests," Stiles echoed thoughtfully, oblivious to Derek's internal crisis. "I don't know, what's your favorite wedding song?" 

"I don't have one," Derek said. He wasn't going to set himself up for a contrived romantic moment with Stiles, that was the opposite of what he'd been trying to do. 

"Come on." Stiles took a shuffling step closer to the table, his smile smaller now, inviting confidences Derek didn't want to give. "You can tell me. I promise I won't tell anyone else."

"I don't," Derek said through gritted teeth, leaning forward with his palms flat on the table. "I don't have a favorite."

Stiles seemed to find Derek's irritation funny. Derek had been absolutely right about his lack of self-preservation instincts. 

"Yeah, you're totally lying to me right now," Stiles said, amused. "Is it that bad? Is it, like, Backstreet Boys?"

"What, no, it isn't _Backstreet Boys_ ," Derek said, appalled enough to lose sight of his objective for a moment. 

"Hah!" Stiles smirked at him. "You _do_ have one, you big liar. You don't strike me as the Backstreet Boys type, anyway." 

"You've made a lot of snap judgments about my musical taste today," Derek said, trying not to be secretly relieved that he wasn't _the Backstreet Boys type_ , whatever that meant. "I'm not sure what you're basing any of it on." 

"Wishful thinking, mostly. I don't know much of anything about you, so I'm free to make it up as I go along."

"Then why don't you just make up a song for me to like," Derek said dryly.

Stiles brightened. "Okay."

Wait, no, that wasn't — _dammit_.

"I'll bet you like the classics," Stiles said, gaze sliding down Derek's chest, lingering on his fitted gray vest. "Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra. I really wish I didn't know this much about wedding songs, but Scott made a playlist on his iPod and forced me to listen to it for the better part of a month." 

"Could've been a lot worse, if he was making you listen to Nat King Cole and Sinatra," Derek pointed out. 

"It wasn't all Sinatra." Stiles grimaced. "He was swerving dangerously into All 4 One territory for a while there. He claimed that one was Allison's idea, but he, like you, is a liar. I had to talk him down off that ledge. That might as well be my wedding present to Allison."

Derek snorted, shaking his head a little as he looked down at the table. He liked Scott, as much as he ever liked anyone. They hadn't interacted a whole lot, but Scott seemed nice enough, and he was obviously smitten with Allison. 

Stiles studied him for a moment, then shook his head too, an odd, self-deprecating look on his face. 

"Yeah, Sinatra," he said. 

Derek almost smiled. Close — for certain values of close — but not quite. 

"What's the one Scott kept making me listen to, that one," Stiles said, nodding to himself. 

"The Way You Look Tonight," Derek said. He didn't hate that song. At the very least, he wished it were currently more popular for first dances than Jason Mraz.

"Yeah, that one," Stiles said, smiling at him. "But, listen, I don't want you to play that tonight." 

Derek's eyebrows drew together. "You don't?"

Stiles shook his head. It wasn't a song Scott and Allison had specifically asked for, so he supposed he could skip it, but — why? Wasn't that what Stiles had been leading up to?

"You keep looking at me like I'm going to lunge across the table and make you dance with me by force," Stiles said, his smile fading. "So, no, I don't want you to play it, because I don't want to dance with you unless you want to dance with me too, okay?"

"I don't dance at weddings I work," Derek said, deflecting. 

"All right," Stiles said. He didn't look hurt, just accepting, and he was still smiling a little, eyes warm on Derek. "The cake is amazing, I helped pick it out. Make sure you have some."

"Okay," Derek said, and watched Stiles walk away. 

He'd wanted Stiles to go away, and Stiles had picked up all of his signals, so why was he disappointed?

*

He was being watched, Stiles realized. Erica and Danny in the corner, Lydia near the far door, Isaac in line for the bar: they were all watching him, they'd probably watched the entire thing, seen him crash and burn with Derek way earlier than he'd meant to. 

Well ... crap. Nothing like being shot down in front of all of your friends. Not that Derek had been a dick about it or anything, but he clearly wasn't interested in Stiles, and Stiles had spent too many years ignoring exactly that signal from people he liked to ignore it now. 

If anything, he was hyperaware of it these days. He tried not to make an ass of himself, whenever possible. He tended not to succeed at it, but he did try.

He hesitated a moment, then shouldered his way through the closer door and out into the sunlight. Across the lawn, Laura was still taking pictures of Scott and Allison, and they looked happy. His best friend was married to the love of his life; Stiles felt like he'd accomplished something, somehow, even though he'd had extremely little to do with it.

If he managed to read his speech without having to pull out his index cards, _that_ would be an accomplishment. 

"The hot DJ is getting death glares like you would not believe," Lydia said, the door clanking shut behind her. "Do you want someone to kick his ass? You'd have a lot of takers."

"Oh my god," Stiles groaned, dropping his face into his hands. "Please don't kick his ass, he's a nice guy." 

"You've talked to him twice, you have no idea if he's a nice guy or not," Lydia pointed out. "Hotness doesn't automatically translate into niceness, you know."

"Believe me, I know," he said, sharper than he meant to. Her eyes widened, and he gestured frantically, trying to walk it back. So much for not making an ass of himself. "No, I — I didn't mean that, I'm sorry, I just — I really like him."

"You've talked to him twice," Lydia said again, softer. 

"I know," he said, sighing. "I know, but haven't you ever just looked at someone and thought maybe they were exactly what you wanted, that maybe you should get to know them better?"

"I don't believe in love at first sight," Lydia said. 

"Neither do I," Stiles said, because, like Derek, he was a liar. It'd been like that for his parents; he was pretty sure it'd been like that for Scott and Allison. He believed, maybe stupidly, that there absolutely was such a thing as love at first sight. 

That wasn't it, though. He wasn't magically in love with Derek after two conversations, he just — he liked Derek, he wanted to have more conversations, he wanted to find out what kind of music Derek listened to on his own time and take him out for coffee and kiss him, a lot. He thought that was all reasonably within the realm of things he should be allowed to feel about someone after talking to them twice. 

Lydia eyed him for a moment, then moved closer, nudging at his arm until he lifted it and curled it around her shoulders, pulling her in against his side. 

"Read me your speech," she said.

"I'm surprised you didn't read it yourself," Stiles said, reaching into his coat pocket. He'd half-expected his index cards to come back marked up in red pen. 

She grabbed his wrist. " _Without_ your cards, Stiles."

"That's a much shorter speech," he said. 

"Then give me the short version first, and read from your cards next, and I'll compare," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. 

Lydia smelled amazing. She _was_ amazing, and there was a small, neglected part of him that felt wistful, watching Scott and Allison pose for pictures across the lawn. When they were kids, he'd thought that it'd be them someday with the rings and the flowers and all of it. That wasn't what he wanted for himself now, and hadn't been for a long time, but still — it was strange. 

"Scott has been my best friend since preschool," Stiles said, resting his cheek on the top of her head. "He's my brother, and I love him, and I'm glad Allison will be there to help me keep him out of trouble for the rest of his life, because it really isn't a one-person job."

"Like he's the only bad idea machine in your brofest," Lydia interrupted. 

"Quiet, I'm giving a speech," he said. Lydia elbowed him gently, huffing. He smiled into her hair. "Allison loves Scott almost as much as I do, and there's no one else I'd trust to look after him. So here's to Scott and Allison. I love you guys, and I know you'll be happy together and good to each other."

The version on the index cards was a lot longer and involved several key anecdotes, but that was the gist of it. 

"I don't know whether to cry or hit you," Lydia said. She delicately wiped under her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. "That version, definitely."

"You haven't heard the other one," he said. 

"I don't need to." She leaned up to kiss his cheek, and he closed his eyes and just for a second, he imagined — but it felt hollow, and it took no effort at all to smile at her when he opened his eyes. "It's perfect as-is."

He gave her shoulders a squeeze. "At least I won't suck at _something_ today."

She rolled her eyes, officially ending the moment they'd been having. 

"Don't sulk about the hot DJ," she ordered him, elbowing him for real this time, hard enough to make him wince. "It's Allison's wedding, you aren't allowed to pout your way through the reception."

"His name is Derek," Stiles said, fully aware of how pitiful he sounded. "And I'm not _sulking_. Or, fine, I won't be sulking once we go back inside, right now I'm totally allowed to sulk, did you see that back there? I know everyone else did."

Lydia stepped out from under the circle of his arm, turning to face him with her hands on her hips. 

"Get over it," she said, tactful as ever. "He isn't the only hot guy on Earth, and you talked to him _twice_. He's probably going to be the DJ for Erica and Boyd's wedding, so there's no time like the present to cross him off your list and move on. I can find you someone hotter to lust after tonight." 

Stiles opened his mouth to explain — again — that there _wasn't_ anyone hotter than Derek, that he knew this to be true without even having gotten in a good look at Derek's ass (yet). Stiles had found his own personal hotness ceiling, and his hotness ceiling had a love-hate relationship with shaving, which it turned out he was entirely onboard with. Tragically, Derek didn't want to rub his face all over Stiles' body, but if he had, Stiles wouldn't have stopped him, stubble or no stubble. 

He was going to tell Lydia all of that, every last oversharing, painfully embarrassing word, but then the door swung open and Boyd walked out, blinking in the sun. "Oh, hey, here you are."

"Good, _you_ deal with this," Lydia said, giving Stiles a light push toward Boyd. "In fact, Boyd is a hot guy, why can't you lust after _him_ tonight?"

Boyd made a face like something smelled bad. Stiles would've been hurt if he hadn't been making exactly the same face, because ew, no. Boyd was male model gorgeous, but they'd been friends long enough that it would practically be incest. Besides, Erica would kill him without a second thought, of that he had no doubt. 

"Saw the thing with the DJ," Boyd said, after Lydia went back inside. "Brought you this." He handed Stiles a plastic cup of something almost clear that smelled like limes. 

"Thank you," Stiles said, touched. "And yeah, I think everyone saw."

"Everyone saw," Boyd confirmed. Stiles took a too-large sip of his drink, choking on a mix that was vodka and limes and maybe nothing else. "You want me to kick his ass? I will."

"Why does everyone want to kick his ass," Stiles said, tipping his head back to glare at the clouds. He knew Boyd was mostly kidding, but come on. "He didn't do anything wrong, he just isn't into me, it's fine."

Boyd gave him a strange look. "Did he say he isn't into you?"

"I thought you said you saw everything."

"I saw a lot of mutual flirting, and then you running out of the hall like your hair was on fire," Boyd said, shrugging. "I just assumed he was a dick to you somehow." 

"Mutual flirting." Stiles snorted. "Right." 

Boyd looked slightly pained. "Stiles, are you even aware of what's going on around you sometimes? That guy is into you. When you walked out, he gave you one of the most pathetic looks I've ever seen on a grown man."

"Derek is _not into me_ ," Stiles said, maybe a little louder than he'd intended. "He couldn't have made it any clearer if he'd put it in writing. I don't need platitudes, okay? Lydia was right, I've only talked to him twice, I'm not, I'm not going to _pine_ or something, it's fine, so please tell everyone to call off the hit on him, he didn't do _anything wrong_."

"Um, Stiles," Scott said, sounding a lot closer than he had been a minute ago. 

Crap. Laura was right behind him, wasn't she. 

Stiles turned around slowly. Scott, Allison and Laura were standing at the bottom of the steps, about to come up. Allison clearly wasn't in the loop, going by her confused expression; Scott was giving Stiles some real _are you kidding me with this_ stink-eye, which, fair. 

Laura was watching him thoughtfully, her lip caught between her teeth. 

"Can we please pretend you didn't hear any of that," Stiles said, right on the verge of being genuinely upset about it all. He'd managed to avoid that so far — Lydia _did_ have a point about how he'd known Derek for all of two seconds — but seriously, how many times could he humiliate himself in front of Derek's sister in one day? 

Laura gave him a small smile and walked past him into the hall, not saying a word. 

"Drink up," Boyd said, patting his shoulder. "I'll get you another one."

"You're a good friend," Stiles told him, tipping back his cup of vodka and lime. 

*

Derek was doing a decent job of playing it cool. At least half a dozen people had spent the past few hours glaring at him like he'd kicked their puppy, but he'd pretended not to notice, and he thought he was selling it. 

Lydia, at least, wasn't glaring at him, but it turned out she had an incredible ability to freeze out a complete stranger across a crowded room. Normally, he wouldn't have thought twice about someone at a wedding ignoring him — _most_ people at weddings ignored him, if he was doing his job right — but somehow Lydia made it clear that she was making a statement with it, icing him out on purpose. He didn't know how, but she was. 

Stiles didn't seem half as upset as his friends did. When their fingers brushed over the mic Derek handed him for his best man speech, Stiles didn't react at all; when Scott and Allison cut the cake, Stiles brought him a piece, not saying anything, just putting the plate on the table and giving him a half-smile. 

Derek watched Stiles laugh and dance and cry, a little, when he gave his speech. He watched Stiles tap his glass to make Scott and Allison kiss so many times that Scott took his glass away, and he watched Stiles and Scott do the YMCA, which, as predicted, almost ended in Scott giving Stiles a black eye. He watched Stiles eat piece after piece of cake and drink whatever anyone handed him and talk, talk and _talk_ , with his words, with his hands, with his quick, bright smiles.

He watched Stiles so much that he couldn't decide if he was being creepy or masochistic, but he knew it had to be one of the two. Or both, maybe. 

Laura didn't come over to his table at all. He had a feeling she was avoiding him, which meant she'd overheard something, which meant the drive home was going to be incredibly uncomfortable. 

This wasn't exactly Derek's favorite wedding ever. 

Scott and Allison ducked out at eleven thirty, half an hour before the reception was due to end. By then, the crowd had thinned out considerably, only the wedding party and a handful of their friends left on the floor. He knew some of their names, now; the guy with the laptop was Danny, the other groomsman was Isaac, Erica's fiancé was Boyd. Allison had pointed them all out to him in a happy, tipsy haze. 

Boyd stopped by his table at quarter to midnight, leaning in to be heard over the unfortunate but necessary sounds of Katy Perry. 

"Is there time for one more slow one?"

"Sure," Derek said, glancing at his playlist. He hadn't planned on closing with a slow dance, but they seemed like a group that would like that. "What do you have in mind?"

"Doesn't matter." Boyd shrugged. "Just want to take my girl for one more spin before we go home."

"I can do that," Derek said, giving Boyd a practiced, friendly smile. 

Boyd looked at Derek for a moment before shaking his head and laughing at him. 

"She was right," he said, smirking. "You _do_ look kind of creepy when you smile."

Derek felt his fake smile collapse into something honestly offended. Boyd laughed again, retreating onto the dance floor. He said something to Stiles that made Stiles look over at Derek, eyes locking with his. 

He was tempted to play Sinatra. It was a bad idea, but he wanted to do it anyway. He wanted Stiles to keep smiling at him like no one who actually knew Derek would ever smile at him. He just _wanted_. 

Stiles was waiting to see what he would do. 

Derek chickened out and queued up Rod Stewart. 

The song wouldn't come on for a few minutes yet, but Stiles must have read the answer in Derek's expression. He finished his drink, deposited the empty cup on a nearby table, and turned his back to Derek, catching Lydia's hand and pulling her in. 

Someone separated from the herd and approached Derek's table. Isaac? Isaac. 

"That was some of the most epic indecision I've ever seen," Isaac said, digging a pen out of his pocket and scribbling something on a napkin. "And I watched Scott and Allison go on and off again eight times, so." 

"Really," Derek said inanely, trying to make out what Isaac was writing behind the curl of his hand. 

"They're solid," Isaac said, clicking his pen off. "Now. But there were a few years there when I never wanted to hear Scott say the name _Allison_ ever again. You should ask Stiles about it sometime, he tells it better than I do."

Derek didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. Isaac was the first one to try to push Derek at Stiles, rather than interrogating him or acting like brushing Stiles off was a criminal offense.

"Do you like him?" Isaac looked up at Derek, folding the cocktail napkin in two. 

Derek rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Stiles?"

"Yes, Stiles," Isaac said, with more patience than Derek merited. 

"He's all right," Derek said evasively, willing Isaac — willing _all_ of them — to leave him alone. 

"You like him," Isaac said. "So why did you...?"

Derek turned away from Isaac for a moment to announce the last song of the night, and Boyd gave him a thumbs up, grabbing Erica. Danny was dancing with a middling cute guy in a blue suit, a few people who hadn't been painstakingly pointed out to him were swaying more or less drunkenly in place, and Stiles and Lydia were sitting in chairs at the edge of the floor, their heads bent together, faces serious. 

"Because he seems ... nice," Derek said, watching Stiles lean comfortably into Lydia's space, idly pulling petals off a flower in her hand as they talked. "And I'm—"

"Not?" Isaac was eyeing him with his head tilted slightly to the side, evaluating. 

"I was going to say, I wouldn't want him to be anyone's rebound." Derek didn't think he owed it to Stiles' nosy, weirdly over-invested friends to tell them even this much, but he knew if he told Isaac it would get back to Stiles, and then at least Stiles would know it wasn't personal. "Even mine. Especially mine."

Isaac looked down at the napkin in his hand, over at Stiles, and back at Derek, hesitating. 

"Okay," he finally said, pushing the napkin over to Derek. "I know you didn't tell him a word of that, and I get it, this is your job, I wouldn't want to get into my entire relationship history with someone I'd just met at my job, either. So." He pointed at the napkin. "Don't pretend you don't want to. You aren't really fooling anybody, except Stiles, because Stiles is an idiot."

"Hey," Derek said reflexively, even though, for all he knew, Stiles was in fact an idiot. He knew nothing at all about Stiles, certainly not enough to be acting _defensive_ , like a teenager with a crush. 

Isaac smiled. "Yeah, I figured." He shrugged. "You're probably going to see him at Erica and Boyd's wedding, anyway, it'll be way less awkward if you just call him now."

Wait, what?

Derek unfolded the napkin. It read, _CALL STILES_ , with a phone number underneath. 

When he looked up, Isaac was back on the dance floor. 

Derek only hesitated a moment before he took his phone out of his pocket, programmed in the number, and balled up the napkin. Just because he'd taken Stiles' number didn't mean he ever had to _use_ it. 

Only — he had it now, and Stiles was looking almost sad for the first time all night, methodically destroying Lydia's rose and staring at the floor. 

As Rod Stewart wrapped things up, Derek tapped at his phone.

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
Your friends annoy the hell out of me. One of them just gave me your number.

Across the floor, Stiles fished his phone out of his pocket and flicked his thumb over it, pulling up the text. His eyebrows drew together in a fleeting moment of confusion, and then his head jerked up, eyes wide as he looked right at Derek. 

Derek kept his eyes on his phone, watching Stiles in his peripheral vision as he typed out a second text. 

**_To: Stiles_**  
Is it okay if I use it sometime? 

Stiles swallowed, gaze flicking back and forth between Derek and his phone. He ducked his head to squint at his screen, and after a moment, Derek's phone lit up with a new message. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
okay

Derek smiled, couldn't help it. When he looked up, Stiles was smiling too, puzzled but pleased. 

The music was over. The wedding was over. Thank god; Derek didn't think he could take any more weddings like this one. 

Still. Not his favorite wedding ever, but maybe not his least favorite wedding, either. 

"You look awful happy about something," Laura said, startling Derek so much he jumped half out of his skin. She laughed, clicking several pictures of him in a row. "Wow. I don't think I've ever managed to creep up on _you_ before."

"It's been happening to me all night," Derek grumbled. 

"Instant karma's gonna get you," she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes and tucking it back behind one ear. "Consider it just a small taste of the payback you deserve for years of scaring the crap out of me."

He didn't feel like getting into a bickering match with Laura just then, so he let it go, silently starting to unplug his equipment.

"So I hear you're spoken for," she said. "I also hear you're the hottest guy ever." 

"Do you," he said, striving to sound uninterested. 

"I do. There's no accounting for taste." She swiped the crumpled up napkin off the table before he could think to grab it, flattening it out and laughing again as she read Isaac's sideways scrawl. "Word a few hours ago was you either were or weren't really into the guy with the Bambi eyes — Stiles — depending on which of Scott's friends you listened to, but I take it by the dopey look on both your faces that the question has been resolved."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Derek tried. 

"I'm only telling you this because Bambi went on an impressive rant about how his friends shouldn't be mean to you," Laura said, sticking the napkin in her pocket, probably as blackmail material to hold over him later. "It was sweet. I think I like him. Go say goodnight, I'll watch your stuff." 

"I need to pack up," Derek said, glancing over at the remnants of the wedding party, who were rounding up centerpieces, boxes of cake, and several crates of alcohol. 

"You've got a minute before they need the table," she said, unimpressed with his evasion tactics. "Go."

Derek wasn't nervous. He wasn't. He'd thought the text thing was a pretty good way to end things for the night, and he had no idea what to say to Stiles now, but he wasn't nervous.

"Go," Laura said again, impatiently.

He took a breath, steeled himself, and stepped out from behind the table. 

*

"Hottie at your six o'clock," Erica hissed. 

Stiles turned around and almost dropped his precariously stacked boxes of wedding cake. Derek was headed right toward him, looking equal parts nervous and determined. 

Derek's entire existence was mixed signals, wasn't it? Stiles had a feeling that if he wanted to see Derek again, this was something he would have to get used to. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. 

Isaac took the cake boxes from him and Boyd gave him an unsubtle shove toward Derek, and then they deserted him, all of them, scurrying away like rats fleeing a sinking ship. 

"Hi," Stiles said when Derek came to a stop in front of him. Derek's nicely tailored clothes were wrinkled now, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he looked dead tired. He was still the hottest thing Stiles had ever seen, and now he had Stiles' number, and apparently meant to use it. Maybe. Sometime. 

"Hi," Derek said, just as awkwardly. 

"Isaac repeated your conversation word for word," Stiles told him, in the interests of full disclosure. Derek nodded like he'd been expecting that, which made Stiles think Derek had been deliberately playing a game of telephone. "He's convinced you're ... interested. In me." 

"I more or less told him I was," Derek admitted, which was almost as good as him saying outright that he liked Stiles. Almost. 

"Call me crazy, but it doesn't seem like you _want_ to be interested in me," Stiles said. 

"I am," Derek said. He exhaled all in a rush, like that had been difficult to say. 

"Yeah, I got that," Stiles said. He wasn't stupid, no matter what his friends seemed to think tonight. It hadn't been difficult to pick up on the fact that Derek was interested, what with Derek staring at him all night like he was the last gumdrop in the candy store. 

Derek was quiet for a moment, looking at Stiles indecisively. 

"I _didn't_ want to be interested in you," Derek said slowly. Not at all what Stiles had wanted to hear, but given the past tense, he was willing to wait on the rest. "I'd ... like to get to know you better, take you out, but this isn't — it isn't a good time for me."

"Okay," Stiles said. He couldn't help a laugh at the surprise on Derek's face. "I have my Save the Date for Erica and Boyd's wedding, and I'm guessing any minute now, so will you — professionally speaking — so it isn't like I won't ever see you again." 

Derek looked like he was waiting for the catch. Good, then the feeling was mutual. 

"Maybe we can just," Derek said, and stopped, scowling at the floor. Not good at using his words, was he? Stiles really shouldn't find that cute, but he knew the cuteness of it would wear off real fast, so maybe he'd just enjoy it while it was still new. "In the meantime, maybe..."

"You have my number," Stiles said, hoping he wasn't misinterpreting what Derek was trying and failing to say. "And I know now that you know how to text. With punctuation and everything."

"Yes," Derek said, looking relieved.

"Okay," Stiles said, deciding to end the conversation there, before Derek sprained something trying to form any more sentences about his feelings. "Goodnight, Derek."

"Goodnight," Derek said, his voice lower than it needed to be, intimate. Stiles couldn't help a shiver, and he knew Derek saw, he _knew_ , because Derek shivered too, his eyes closing for a second. Stiles' mouth went dry, and he flicked his tongue out over his lower lip without any real intent behind it. 

Derek spun around, marched himself back to the table where his sister was waiting, and started packing up his stuff a lot faster than was strictly necessary. 

"Hot," Lydia said, handing Stiles an armful of flower arrangements. "I thought you were going to jump him, for a minute there."

"So did I," Stiles said on an exhale, clutching the flowers. "Can we get out of here before I change my mind and do something stupid?"

"Oh, honey." Lydia patted him on the back. "We can get out of here before you change your mind, but doing something stupid is _definitely_ in your rearview mirror at this point."

"Yeah," Stiles said, only half-listening. "Just — hold on."

Derek was bent over the table, collecting stray cables. His ass was every bit as nice as Stiles had hoped. 

Lydia rolled her eyes, grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the exit.

Laura was laughing at him again. His day in Hales had officially come full circle. 


	2. Three Months

**_From: Derek_**  
Erica just asked if Rod Stewart was a member of the Rat Pack.

Stiles stared at his phone for a moment, double-checking the caller ID several times. It'd been two weeks since Scott's wedding, and he hadn't heard a word from Derek. He hadn't texted Derek either, but all things considered, he'd thought it would be smart to wait for Derek to make the next move.

Isaac hit pause on his controller, glancing at Stiles' phone. "Derek?"

"Maybe," Stiles said, pulling his phone closer to his chest. Isaac rolled his eyes. "What! All I said was _maybe_."

"It's Derek." Isaac grabbed Stiles' controller off his lap and tossed it to Scott, who'd been pretending to study for his exams for the past half-hour. Scott grinned at Isaac and turned toward the TV, pushing his books out of the way with his knee. 

**_To: Derek_**  
who is rod stewart

 _ **From: Derek**_  
Really? 

"Guys, who is Rod Stewart?" Stiles asked. This felt like something he should know, but he was drawing a blank, maybe because _Derek was texting him_.

Isaac slid closer on the couch, trying to see Stiles' screen and blow things up at the same time. "Derek likes classic rock?"

"I know about classic rock," Stiles said defensively, getting bemused looks from both of his friends. "I do! I'm not all about it or anything, but I know who The Doors are, give me a break."

Scott gave him a look, Isaac slid away again, and they went back to their game, filling the awkward silence with explosions. 

**_To: Derek_**  
why are you talking about rod stewart w erica

 _ **From: Derek**_  
She liked the last song at Scott's wedding. 

He didn't remember the last song at Scott's wedding. He hadn't been paying attention; he'd been too busy getting another accurate but unhelpful lecture from Lydia about the dangers of pining over someone you'd just met. 

**_To: Derek_**  
what song?

 _ **From: Derek**_  
Have I Told You Lately. 

Oh, hey, Stiles knew that song, it'd been on Scott's playlist. That meant he probably _did_ know who Rod Stewart was, even if he couldn't put a face — or a music catalog, or an anything — to the name right then. 

**_To: Derek_**  
thought erica wanted rihanna for her first dance

 _ **From: Derek**_  
She does. 

He could sense Derek's disappointment from here. 

**_To: Derek_**  
hey I like rihanna

 _ **From: Derek**_  
Not as much as Erica likes Rihanna. 

**_To: Derek_**  
yeah her love is pure and true. she might love rihanna more than she loves boyd

 _ **From: Derek**_  
I doubt it. 

"Aww," Stiles said, clutching his phone. That was sweet. He didn't know what to do with the information that Derek might be secretly sweet, he'd mostly seen Derek being standoffish, exasperated, and on-the-job fake-charming. 

"And so it begins," Isaac intoned. Scott laughed. 

_**From: Derek**_  
I think she realized I'm texting you. Gotta go. 

**_From: Erica_**  
stop distracting my DJ!!

 ** _From: Boyd_**  
he's still really into you jsyk

Stiles tossed his phone onto the couch, struggling with the urge to do victory arms. Scott immediately grabbed the phone and read his texts, because his friends had no sense of personal boundaries. If Stiles had a solid grasp on boundaries, himself, he'd judge them more. 

"Aww," Scott said. 

" _Thank you_ ," Stiles said, ignoring the fact that his phone was now being passed to Isaac without his permission. 

"I still think Derek is kind of a douchenozzle," Scott said, immediately unearning his points. "He didn't call or text you for two weeks."

"You're way too old to be saying _douchenozzle_ ," Stiles said, kicking Scott's ankle. "Give me back my controller and crack a book, you're never going to be Dr. McCall at this rate."

Scott kicked him back. "Allison already calls me Dr. McCall."

Stiles immediately filed that under _Things I Don't Want to Know About Scott and Allison_. It was a pretty big folder at this point, stuffed as it was with almost a decade of oversharing.

"I don't know who Allison is," he said, stealing back his controller. 

"I think he means My Wife," Isaac said, smirking.

"Oh, right! My Wife. I forgot her other name was Allison." Stiles grinned as Scott kicked him again.

"I'm just saying," Scott said, because he could be incredibly tenacious sometimes, see also: Allison, veterinary school, pineapple on pizza, and Train. "Two weeks, Stiles."

"I like Derek," Stiles said, shrugging. "I'm not in a hurry."

"That's what worries me," Scott muttered. 

Stiles gave up on the game and turned to face Scott, frowning at him. "What the hell does _that_ mean?"

Scott huffed out a sigh, turning to face Stiles too. 

"It means you don't ever just _like_ someone, Stiles. I can count on one hand the number of people you've _liked_." He lifted a hand. Was he actually going to — okay, he was. "Lydia. Danny. Alex. _Sarah_. Derek."

"That's pretty much what Danny said when I asked him why he was Google-stalking Derek at your wedding," Stiles said, just as annoyed now as he'd been then. "I can like someone. I like people all the time."

"Name one," Scott said. 

"Shut up," Stiles said, because he was at least as immature as Scott. "This isn't a big deal! All I want to do is go out on a date with a hot guy I met at a wedding." 

"You've never been on a casual date _in your life_ ," Scott said. That was rich, coming from the guy who was newlyweds with his high school sweetheart. "That's fine, whatever, it works for you, but you don't even know this guy and—"

"And _what_ ," Stiles said, glaring at him. "And what? If you say the word _pining_ , so help me god. I get enough of that from Lydia."

"I just don't want you to get hurt," Scott said, effectively ending the argument. Stiles didn't have an angry comeback for that, and Scott knew it. 

Isaac was watching them carefully. "Are we at the kiss and make up part of this fight yet? Because I'm two minutes away from calling Allison in to knock some heads together."

"We're good," Stiles said. "Scott is just being an overprotective ass."

"Yeah, maybe," Scott said, shrugging. "But I still think you like him more than you're willing to admit."

Stiles' phone lit up with a new text. It was, thank god, not from Derek. 

_**From: Boyd**_  
why is erica hell bent on finding out dereks favorite wedding song

"I'm never telling any of you anything, ever again," Stiles sighed. He'd only told that part to Scott, who must have told Allison, who'd probably told Lydia, who — he was guessing — had told Erica so that Erica could grill Derek.

 ** _To: Boyd_**  
tell her to stop

 _ **From: Boyd**_  
that man is fort knox

The next text was from Derek. Oh, crap. 

_**From: Derek**_  
It still isn't Backstreet Boys. 

**_To: Derek_**  
I didn't tell her to ask you I swear

 _ **From: Derek**_  
I know. Have you thought about getting less annoying friends? 

He looked up at Scott and Isaac. Isaac was watching him expectantly, controller forgotten in his hands; Scott looked stubbornly worried, glaring at Stiles' phone. 

**_To: Derek_**  
nope.

*

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
what do you know about the NHL

Derek took another bite of eggs, contemplating his phone for a moment before sending a reply.

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
Next to nothing, why?

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
trying to make small talk w isaac's brunch date and she's really into the kings

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
thought she meant the british monarchy or something

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
spent five minutes talking to her about kate middleton before I figured it out

Derek snorted. Laura looked up from her waffles, raising an eyebrow. 

"Tell Stiles I said hi," she said dryly. 

**_To: Stiles_**  
Does she at least like Kate Middleton? 

**_To: Stiles_**  
Laura says hi. 

"I never said it was Stiles," Derek said, poking at his eggs. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
unclear

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
hi laura

"Stiles says hi," Derek said reluctantly. 

"Uh-huh," Laura said. "Put your phone away. We're out to eat, it's rude."

 _Yes, mom_. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he knew he wouldn't say them. He pocketed his phone, picking his fork back up. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket twice. He held out for two minutes, tops. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
yeah, hockey really not my sport

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
everyone says hi

Derek hesitated for a moment, glancing at Laura. She rolled her eyes and waved a hand, either granting permission or just giving up.

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
Hi, "everyone."

Derek knew things about Stiles, now. In the three weeks that they'd been texting, he'd learned that Stiles worked at the Beacon Hills Public Library, that he lived next door to his dad, and that he had a cat he only ever seemed to call _the cat_. A lot of his texts were related to one of those three things, which meant Derek's phone was constantly buzzing with librarian humor, _my dad says_..., and cat anecdotes. 

He also talked about his friends virtually nonstop, ranging from the genuinely informative (Scott was working on his DVM) to the random (Danny was allergic to asparagus) to potential blackmail material (Lydia had an ex in San Bernardino that she still hooked up with now and then). Derek knew more than he wanted or needed to about all of them. 

Last night, he'd learned that Allison led the most terrifying troop of Girl Scouts that Stiles had ever seen. In February, Stiles had signed up to buy Thin Mints any time a nine-year-old had waved an order form at him, and now in the middle of May his freezer was half full of green boxes of cookies. 

It was a good thing Derek had given up on not finding Stiles cute. 

Derek wasn't going to pretend that every text about what Stiles liked and where he went and what he did was objectively riveting, but his phone had been all but glued to his hand for weeks. Laura had been significantly more patient about it than Derek probably deserved. 

**_To: Stiles_**  
What is your sport, then? 

**_From: Stiles_**  
lacrosse. we all played in high school

Lacrosse. 

Derek hadn't seen that one coming. 

**_To: Stiles_**  
I was expecting baseball, maybe soccer. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
it's the hand eye coordination of baseball combined with the rugged athleticism of soccer 

"I think I accidentally tripped his lacrosse evangelism switch," Derek said, setting down his phone to inhale the rest of his eggs. 

"I didn't know there was such a thing as lacrosse evangelism," Laura said, amused. "Is that the one with nets on sticks?"

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
scott says after boyd's wedding we will meet on the field as men do and teach you of lacrosse

That — huh. 

That was the first time either of them had mentioned seeing each other after Erica and Boyd's wedding. 

"Uh-oh, what's with the face," Laura said, setting down her fork. 

"He's with his friends. They want to do a lacrosse thing after the wedding." He fidgeted with his phone, spinning it in a circle on the table. "With me."

"Are you going to say yes?"

"I don't know." He stole a piece of her toast so he he'd have something in his hands, an excuse not to reply to Stiles. "It feels — soon."

"Soon," she repeated. "To be playing lacrosse, with a group of people, three months after you met them."

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
update. she does not like kate middleton. or me. or possibly isaac

"I don't want to talk to you about this," Derek said, taking her other piece of toast, too. 

"If wishes were fishes," Laura said. "Are you going to answer him ever?"

"I thought you didn't want me to text at the table," Derek grumbled, ignoring his phone when it buzzed again. 

"Believe it or not, my desire to see you socialize with someone other than me ultimately outweighs my fantasy that someday you'll have table manners." She gestured at his phone with a forkful of waffle. "Tell him yes."

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
she definitely does not like scott. or lacrosse. who doesn't like scott? or lacrosse

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
this date is pretty much a bust. poor guy

Was this some sort of test that Derek could only pass by demonstrating an interest in lacrosse? 

**_To: Stiles_**  
Do you mean right after the wedding, or some other time? 

**_From: Stiles_**  
another time. but now we are contemplating formalwear lacrosse and are intrigued 

**_To: Stiles_**  
I was hoping we could go out for coffee after the wedding. Right after, I mean. 

His phone was silent. 

"What's going on?" Laura said, spearing the last of her waffles. "Did you say yes?"

"I asked him out for coffee after the wedding," Derek said, making himself set the phone down. He wasn't going to stare at it in his hand until Stiles replied, that would be pathetic. 

Laura's eyes widened. "You did? What did he say?"

"Nothing yet," Derek said evenly, sitting back. 

"He's out with his friends," Laura said, in a light, encouraging tone that made him want to kick her under the table. "And he's better socialized than you are, so he might not get back to you until later, I wouldn't—"

His phone buzzed.

 ** _From: Erica_**  
what did you do

His stomach lurched. Why was he hearing from Erica, and not from Stiles?

 ** _From: Erica_**  
Im not there but I just got three texts from isaac 

**_To: Erica_**  
About what?

 ** _From: Erica_**  
stiles knocked his juice all over issacs date and fell over

 ** _From: Erica_**  
isaac doesnt know what happened but he thinks you did something so what did you do

Derek was suddenly profoundly grateful that Isaac didn't have his phone number. 

Laura was trying to get a look at his phone. "What does he say?"

"It isn't Stiles," he said. But the moment the words were out of his mouth, his phone was lighting up again and again, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, messages piling up in his inbox faster than he could read them. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
sure we could do that 

**_From: Stiles_**  
if you wanted

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
could be fun

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
coffee I mean

"Way to play it cool, Bambi," Laura said, reading Derek's texts upside down. "I hope his friends are mocking him as much as I want to right now. Do it for both of us, Scott." 

"I told you to stop calling him that," Derek said, but he couldn't make himself sound all that annoyed about it. He had an awful feeling that he was smiling in a way he knew made him look ridiculous. 

"Stop, you're giving me cavities," she said, more or less confirming his suspicions.

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
Good. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
it's a date?

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
Yes, Stiles, it's a date. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
just checking

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
okay gotta go about to get murdered but yes definitely coffee okay bye

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
Bye. Try not to spill anything else on Isaac's date. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
who told you??

Derek was still smiling. It felt weird. He wasn't sure he liked it.

*

 _ **From: Derek**_  
Erica is trying to get me to do the electric slide. Make her stop. 

"What — how," Stiles said.

 _ **To: Derek**_  
context needed please

 _ **From: Derek**_  
She says she doesn't know how to do it and needs to learn for her wedding. 

_**To: Derek**_  
pretty sure she did it at scott's wedding

 _ **From: Derek**_  
I know. I was there. 

"Your girlfr— your fiancée is harassing Derek again, make her stop," Stiles said.

"She likes Derek," Boyd said, shrugging in a way that clearly indicated he had no idea why Erica or, indeed, anyone would like Derek. "Harassment is how she makes friends."

"That's so second grade," Stiles said. 

_**To: Derek**_  
tell her to get a dance instructor if she wants one

 _ **To: Derek**_  
that isn't you

The front door creaked open, Allison's laugh preceding her into the living room. 

"I have some cheese," she was saying to someone — to someone with her in the apartment, Stiles heard a second set of steps. "And maybe some grapes? Sorry, I should've stopped on the way home." 

"I was promised wine, not a snack tray," said a vaguely familiar female voice. 

"We have a _lot_ of wine," Allison said. 

"It's true," Scott said to Stiles and Boyd, not bothering to get up off the couch to greet his wife. Ah, how quickly the romance died. "And I don't even like wine."

"Scott?" Allison came into the living room, smiling. "I thought you were going out with — oh," as her gaze landed on Stiles. _Oh?_ "Hi, Stiles."

"He's here?" 

_Laura freaking Hale_ walked into the living room. 

Laura Hale. 

Derek's sister Laura. 

"Bambi," she said. "We meet again. Again."

Boyd mouthed at him, _Bambi?_

 __"Hi, Laura," Stiles said, abruptly very conscious of his fraying jeans and ratty BHPL T-shirt. Good enough for Scott and Boyd, _not_ good enough for company, much less _Derek's sister_. "What are you — um—"

"I ran into Laura downtown and she came back to have a glass of wine," Allison said. "Anyone else want wine?"

"We have beer," Scott said, lifting his bottle. 

Allison kissed the top of Scott's head over the back of the couch, ruffled his hair, and left for the kitchen. Laura only hesitated a moment before following, their conversation resuming in the next room over like there hadn't been any awkward interruptions at all. 

Stiles sat up, eyeing Scott. Scott made a _dude, I don't know_ face. 

"Are Allison and Laura friends now?" Stiles whispered. "When did that happen?"

"I have no idea," Scott whispered back. 

Stiles had three unread texts from Derek. He skipped all of them, going right to a new message. 

_**To: Derek**_  
laura is here at scott's

 _ **From: Derek**_  
I thought she was all set with the two of them.

 _ **To: Derek**_  
not about their wedding, she and allison are buds or something, she's just hanging out 

Stiles was working very hard not to eavesdrop on Allison and Laura's conversation. Scott and Boyd were just sitting there watching Stiles like he was great reality television, because they were both tremendously unhelpful jerks. 

_**To: Derek**_  
I think maybe we're going to hang out in a minute

 _ **To: Derek**_  
me and laura

 _ **To: Derek**_  
is that okay? if I hang out with laura?

 _ **From: Derek**_  
You don't need my permission to hang out with my sister. 

_**To: Derek**_  
I'm not asking permission, but it feels weird her being here when I haven't even 

He didn't know how to end that text, so he just hit send. 

_**From: Derek**_  
Do you want me to call her and tell her to leave? She will if I ask. 

Laura came back in with a glass of wine. She caught Stiles' eye and tipped her head toward the kitchen, looking faintly apologetic. 

"Allison wants some help with the, um," Laura said. 

"Smooth," Boyd said. 

Stiles got to his feet, waving an arm to indicate that Laura should feel free to take his spot on the couch. 

Allison was standing at the kitchen counter with a determined look on her face, arms folded. 

"I like Laura," she said, before Stiles could get out the sarcastic remark he'd prepared about the _um_ she needed his help with. "I want us to be friends." 

"I'm not stopping you," Stiles said. "It's just a little weird for me. I'm—" _dating her brother_ , he almost said, but that wasn't true, was it? If he were dating her brother, it wouldn't be weird at all. 

It was only weird because he hadn't seen Derek in two months, and he had no idea what he and Derek were even doing, and it was suddenly really, _really_ important to him that Laura like him. 

He knew she wasn't here to test him or screen him or anything — she hadn't even known he'd _be_ here — but that didn't matter. He wanted her to like him, and he had a tendency to embarrass himself over and over when she was around, so he had no idea how to _get_ her to like him, and she was _Derek's sister_ , and— 

"Oh, no," Allison said, her _you're not the boss of me_ face dissolving into worry. "Oh, Stiles, I'm sorry, I'll — I'll tell her to leave if you want me to." 

Great. Stiles had an excellent poker face, he did, but so far he was incapable of using it for anything Derek-related. 

"No, don't do that," he said, painfully aware of how Laura could probably hear every word they were saying. "It's good that you like Laura, you should be friends. Just ignore me, all right?"

"I'm not going to ignore you," Allison said, pulling him into a hug. "Is something going on with Derek? Do you want to talk?" 

"Nothing is going on with Derek," he said, hugging her back. Allison gave good hugs, he wasn't going to turn one down, even if he didn't think the situation really merited it. 

"Stiles?" She pulled back. "Your phone is ringing."

"It's probably my dad," he said. "Sorry, just a sec." He stepped back, answering the call without looking. "Hello?"

"Stop freaking out," Derek said. 

Oh, wow. That rush he'd just gotten from hearing Derek's voice, he'd felt it down to his _toes_.

"Derek," he said. 

Derek exhaled sharply in his ear. Stiles let his eyes drift shut, dimly aware of Allison leaving the room. 

"Stiles," Derek said unevenly. 

"I'm not freaking out," Stiles said. That might not even be a lie; he was too busy being ridiculously turned on by Derek saying his name to freak out. He hadn't heard Derek's voice in _two months._ "You — you called me, is this a thing we're doing now?"

"You didn't answer my text," Derek said. He cleared his throat, maybe trying to make his voice sound a little less like filthy porn. Mission not accomplished. "And Laura is there."

"So this is the exception to the rule, is what you're saying," Stiles said. 

"There isn't a _rule_ ," Derek said.

"Okay," Stiles said. He was pretty sure there was a rule, but whatever. "Well, I'm not freaking out, so, um."

"I'm just not very good," Derek said, and that sounded so inappropriate in the porn voice, Jesus. "On the phone."

"I don't know, you sound _really good_." Stiles bit his lip. He hadn't meant to say that.

Derek made a sound that might've been a laugh. 

"Say more things," Stiles said, and yeah, now Derek was definitely laughing at him. 

"I don't know what else you want me to say. I just called to check on you. You're fine, so—"

"Tell me what you're doing right now," he said, and immediately felt his face go hot. He hadn't meant that in a phone sex kind of way, he'd just meant — he'd just been looking for a _topic_ , why did he have to sound like he was about to tear Derek's clothes off through his phone?

There was a long pause after that. A weirdly hot pause, because Stiles could hear Derek breathing. 

"I don't think this is a good idea," Derek said hoarsely, and there was no way _he_ hadn't meant _that_ in a phone sex kind of way. 

"Yeah," Stiles said, "yeah, bad idea, very bad," because there was a reason Stiles wasn't supposed to stick his hand down his pants right that moment, even if he couldn't remember what it was. 

" _Not in my kitchen, Stiles,_ " Scott shouted from the next room. 

Oh, god, Scott. And _Laura_. And _hearing every word he said_. 

" _Very bad_ ," Stiles said. "Very bad idea, I'm just going to—"

"I'm going to go," Derek said, an odd hitch on the end of that sentence. Stiles had a feeling that what Derek really meant was _I'm going to go jerk off_ , and life was officially hideously unfair, because Derek was alone and Stiles was trapped in Scott's kitchen with no exit routes that didn't involve walking right past Derek's sister. 

Stiles hung up. It was that, or beg Derek to let him listen, no matter who was in the next room. 

He took a deep breath, walked up to the doorframe, and leaned around the edge, peering into the living room. Allison and Boyd were amused, Scott was annoyed, and Laura — was determinedly not looking at him at all. 

"I'm done talking to Derek," he said, making an effort to sound normal, and not like he'd just tried to undress Laura's brother over the phone. 

"I see that," Scott said. 

"I'm going to come back in," Stiles said, waving a hand at the room. "In a minute."

"Bring me another beer when you do," Boyd said. 

Laura had a hand over her eyes and her shoulders were shaking. If he didn't know what it looked like when she was laughing at him, he'd think she was crying. 

Well, at least Derek had accomplished one thing: Stiles was no longer freaking out about embarrassing himself in front of Laura again. That train had definitely left the station.

*

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
What are you wearing?

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
that isn't as effective in a text message, I'm just saying

Derek blinked at the text, read back what he'd sent Stiles, and winced. It was possible he could've worded that better, especially considering — last week. 

_**To: Stiles**_  
To the wedding. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
I only own one suit, so I guess that

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
What color tie?

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
blue

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
What color blue?

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
blue

Derek sighed. Why he liked Stiles was sometimes a mystery. 

_**To: Stiles**_  
Are you being obtuse on purpose? I just need to know what color tie I'm allowed to wear this time. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
whatever color you want it doesn't matter

Derek was going about this entirely the wrong way, wasn't he. 

_**To: Lydia**_  
What colors are the wedding? 

_**From: Lydia**_  
Who is this?

 _ **To: Lydia**_  
Derek Hale. 

_**From: Lydia**_  
How did you get my number?

 _ **To: Lydia**_  
Maybe because you're the maid of honor in a wedding I'm working, again? Erica gave it to me as a secondary contact. 

_**To: Lydia**_  
Are you going to answer the question or not?

 _ **From: Lydia**_  
Crimson and cornflower blue. 

_**From: Lydia**_  
Is this about your tie? I've already taken care of it. 

_**To: Lydia**_  
What does that mean?

 _ **From: Lydia**_  
I got you one. I'll drop it off at the banquet hall before the ceremony.

"You have to be kidding me," Derek said to his phone. 

_**To: Lydia**_  
Do I at least get to know what color it is?

 _ **From: Lydia**_  
Periwinkle. It complements the wedding colors but doesn't match exactly. Wear what you wore before. 

At least this was the last wedding he would be working for this particular group of people for the foreseeable future. 

_**To: Stiles**_  
Nevermind. Lydia bought me a tie. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
does not surprise me at all

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
she bought me three new shirts and two ties that I swear are the same color blue

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
At least she didn't buy me a shirt. 

_**From: Lydia**_  
I just saw some dove gray shirts that would look fantastic with the tie. What's your size? 

_**To: Stiles**_  
I take it back. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
knew you jinxed yourself the minute I saw it

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
knock on wood before she tries to make you buy a new suit

 _ **From: Lydia**_  
Are you married to the gray vest? Have you thought about something in a pinstripe?

Derek turned off his phone and stuck it in a drawer for the rest of the night.

*

 _ **From: Derek**_  
Remind me again how long it is until I'm done with this wedding?

 _ **To: Derek**_  
eight days and you're good

Eight days. That was both really far away and way, _way_ too soon. Stiles had gotten weirdly comfortable with this pseudo-long-distance thing they had going on. At first, he'd been counting the days until the wedding, but now—

It'd only been a couple months, but Stiles was happy and it seemed like Derek was too, given that Derek hadn't yet changed his number or fled the country. 

What if it didn't work in person? Stiles was pretty sure it had worked at Scott's wedding, but they hadn't known each other then, and they kind of did now. 

What if he got to the wedding and it was just awkward city, and Derek brushed him off again and — god, what if Derek didn't like Stiles as much as Stiles liked Derek? Because Stiles really, _really_ liked Derek, he'd stopped fighting Scott on that point a while ago. 

"When did the game end?" Scott was blinking at the TV, stretching. His textbook made an impressive slamming noise when he flipped it shut. Stiles was an expert on books that could take someone out, and that one could do some real damage. "What _is_ this you're watching?"

"The game ended a while ago, and if you say anything bad about John Cusack, we're breaking up," Stiles said. 

_**To: Derek**_  
what's going on w the wedding?

 _ **From: Derek**_  
Laura gave Lydia my clothing sizes. 

_**To: Derek**_  
what did she get you?

 _ **From: Derek**_  
Two identical gray shirts and three vests. 

_**To: Derek**_  
I knew it wouldn't stop at a tie 

"You know," Scott said, and fell silent, gaze shifting back and forth between Stiles' face and his phone. 

Stiles made a _get on with it_ gesture. "I know...?"

Scott sighed, moving around until he was lying on his side, legs stretched out over Stiles' on the couch. Stiles knew all of Scott's conversational tactics, and this one was _I want to talk about feelings but I don't want to look at you while I do._  
  
Stiles settled back too, resting his head on the arm of the couch and staring at the ceiling. If Scott wanted to have a serious bro talk, they could do that. 

"When I first met Derek, I thought he was kind of an asshole," Scott said. Yeah, Stiles had figured this would be about Derek. "And then suddenly at the wedding you were really into him, and it was — it was _my wedding_ , I didn't have time to deal with it, I barely even had time to get married. And now, I feel like if something bad happens, it's going to be my fault, because I didn't take ten minutes out of my day to yell at Derek and tell him to leave you alone."

He wanted to protest that nothing bad was going to happen, that everything was going to be great, but it was apparently honesty time, which meant he shouldn't lie to Scott about all of the doubts and insecurities he'd been obsessing over two minutes ago (and for weeks now, months). He didn't want to talk about them, either, but he wasn't going to lie. 

"Not everything that happens to me is your fault," Stiles said instead, rubbing his eyes. "If things don't work out with Derek, it'll be because they don't work out, not because you did or didn't do anything."

"It isn't my wedding next week," Scott said, in a tone that foretold nothing good whatsoever. "I'll be paying attention this time."

"If you threaten Derek in any way, I will kill you," Stiles said, just so they were clear on this. "I'll be sad about it, but I'll kill you. We had enough of that last time, you guys are _not_ going to spend another wedding being dicks to my boyfriend."

"Dude," Scott said. 

"What, I — fuck," Stiles said, realizing. "I didn't mean boyfriend, I meant — my friend. Who is a boy. Man. My friend who is a man. Can we pretend I didn't say that?"

"No." 

" _Yes_ ," Stiles insisted. "Yes. We can. We're moving on now."

Scott sat up and looked at him, which was a clear violation of the serious bro talk. 

"Have you talked about this?" Scott sounded worried, which was even worse news than the _I'll be watching_ tone earlier. "With Derek?"

"No," Stiles admitted. He and Derek had both carefully avoided anything that even sounded like a relationship talk. Stiles was afraid of scaring Derek off, and Derek — who knew what was going on in his head about all of this, Stiles didn't even know the details on his ex yet. He only knew that Derek had one, and that it'd ended messy. 

Even if he'd never said it explicitly, Derek was afraid of hurting Stiles, he'd made that clear again and again. Well, Stiles was _absolutely terrified_ of hurting Derek, because someone had done a damned good job of it already. 

It didn't bother Stiles that Derek hadn't talked about his ex yet. Stiles hadn't told Derek about Sarah yet, either. And, just like Derek hadn't said a word about anyone in his family but Laura, Stiles hadn't told Derek about his mother. There were some things that were just too important to talk about via text. 

So, no, Derek wasn't his boyfriend. They had way too many things to discuss before they got there. It'd just ... slipped out. 

"I like Laura," Scott said, after letting the silence drag on for a while. "Laura says Derek isn't really an asshole, and I guess she'd know."

"You talked to Laura about Derek?" This was the first Stiles had heard of it. 

"Of course I talked to Laura about Derek," Scott said, incredulous. "She wanted to know about you, too. We talked."

Stiles had been beyond pleased when Laura hadn't grilled him in any of their encounters at Scott's. He'd assumed she was a live and let live, _none of my business_ kind of big sister, despite all other evidence to the contrary. He should've known better. 

"You talked to Laura about me," Stiles said, sitting up to glare at Scott properly. "What did you say?"

"I'm not telling you," Scott said, ignoring the glare. "I'm not telling you what she said about Derek, either. All I'm saying is, she says Derek isn't an asshole, he just has issues, so I promise I'm not going to threaten him at Boyd's wedding. Unless he hurts you, and then I'll do whatever I want."

"Fine," Stiles said, because there was no stopping Scott from doing whatever he wanted, anyway. "But I don't think he's going to hurt me." 

"That's what you always say about people who hurt you," Scott sighed. 

"If I were you, I'd be more worried about traumatic PDA," Stiles said, trying to get them back to safer ground. "If I don't jump Derek at the reception, it will be an actual miracle." 

"I know," Scott said, smiling at him, finally. Stiles exhaled softly in relief, hoping Scott wouldn't notice. "I've been worried about traumatic PDA at the wedding ever since there was traumatic phone sex _in my kitchen_."

"What, we totally stopped," Stiles said, which, as denials went, was ... nonexistent. 

" _I knew it_ ," Scott said. 

Stiles laughed, digging his phone out of the couch cushions. 

_**To: Derek**_  
scott says no pda at the wedding

 _ **From: Derek**_  
Scott will have to deal. 

That should not have been even remotely as hot as it was. 

"Oh my god," Scott said, sounding horrified. "What is that look on your face, are you sexting Derek right now?" 

"Yeah, Scott, I'm sexting Derek, right now, on your couch, with you sitting right next to me," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. 

_**To: Derek**_  
will he

 _ **From: Derek**_  
Yes. 

_**To: Derek**_  
good to know

"Derek says you'll just have to deal," Stiles said. 

Scott sighed melodramatically. "I think the odds of you not jumping him at the wedding just went down." 

"Yeah, I think they did," Stiles said, grinning at his phone.

*

 _ **From: Erica**_  
wedding is off

Derek pulled over, put his car in park, and banged his head against the steering wheel a couple times. 

When that was out of his system, he called Erica. 

"Derek?"

"What do you mean, the wedding is off?" Okay, he could maybe sound a little more sympathetic than that. He wasn't good at sympathy, he wasn't even sure why he'd called her.

Erica burst into tears. He was officially an asshole. 

"Just..." He sighed. "Are you with Lydia?"

"I'm at home," she said, almost unintelligible around loud, shaking sobs. "Boyd went to Scott's." 

Where the hell was Lydia? "So you're alone?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to call Lydia," he said. 

"No!" Jesus. He pulled the phone away from his ear, wincing. "Don't call Lydia, I _don't want Lydia_." 

"Fine! I won't call Lydia." He resisted the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel again. "Give me your address, I don't have it on my phone." He entered her address into his GPS with the phone trapped between his ear and shoulder, eyeing the map. That wasn't too far from where he was. "I'm coming over. Don't cancel anything else until I get there."

"I didn't cancel anything," she said. 

"You—" She'd told him the wedding was off, how did that translate into her not canceling anything? "Just stay put." 

Erica looked like an absolute mess when she answered the door, tissues crumpled in her hand, her face splotchy and red. He was so fucking out of his depth here, it wasn't even funny. 

"You're here," she said, staring. 

"I said I was coming over." Should he not have? Was he really supposed to leave her crying by herself two nights before her wedding? 

"I know, but I didn't think you would actually—" She stepped back, making room for him to come in. "The house is a mess, we haven't had time to — we've been busy because of—" 

She burst into tears again. 

Dammit. 

Derek wanted to call Lydia or text Stiles or bring in someone who _knew what they were doing_ so bad his fingers were twitching, but Erica had said no. He needed a plan for dealing with this. It would help if he knew what the hell he was dealing with, first. 

"All right, listen," he said, herding her into the living room. No — bad idea; the living room looked like a wedding had exploded in it. Kitchen? Yeah, the kitchen was safer, if mostly buried under dishes and takeout boxes. 

"You're going to sit down—" He pointed at a counter stool, and she sat, hunched over with her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. "And tell me what's going on."

What was going on, it turned out, was that Erica and Boyd had had a shouting match over pointless last-minute wedding shit, Boyd had stomped off to hang out with Scott and Isaac, and Erica had texted Derek to cancel the wedding. 

The last part was the one he didn't get. 

Erica was calmer now that he'd made her talk it through. She was, at least, not crying anymore, though she still had a death grip on her tissues that said that could change at any moment. 

"I guess I—" Erica was starting to look embarrassed. "I guess I overreacted." 

"A little," Derek said. 

She scowled at him. "You're supposed to be comforting me. That isn't comforting."

"I'm not good at comforting people," he said, shrugging. "If you wanted someone to comfort you, you should have called Allison. Why _didn't_ you call Allison?"

"Boyd is at her apartment right now," she said. 

So, what, Boyd got to complain to all their friends and she got to sit here by herself? He'd seen them in a group, he was pretty sure they were her friends too. 

Speaking of which — if Boyd was complaining to all their friends, why wasn't Erica's phone ringing nonstop right now?

Derek narrowed his eyes at her. "Where is your phone?"

"I turned it off after I hung up with you," she said. 

If he knew anything about her friends, that meant one of them would be showing up at her door any minute now, which she didn't seem to want. 

"I'm going to text Stiles," he said, pulling out his phone. "Just to let him know things are okay here." He hesitated. "Things _are_ okay here, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," she said. 

Good enough. 

_**To: Stiles**_  
I'm with Erica. She's fine. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
okay good allison was just about to get into her car

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
wait you're w erica? at her house?

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
Yes, at her house. Tell Allison not to come, I don't think Erica wants visitors right now. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
okay

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
you're not a visitor?

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
I have no idea what I'm doing here.

"That's cute," Erica said. She was sounding more like herself now, teasing. "Your Stiles texting face, it's cute."

"I don't have a Stiles texting face," he said. Laura had told him something similar, but the women in his life lived to make fun of him, so he continued to take it all with a grain of salt. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
she likes dancing movies and heineken

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
I'm sure you'll do fine

Which was how he wound up on Erica's couch with a pizza and a six pack, watching Step Up and feigning interest in Erica's love of Channing Tatum. 

Derek had no idea how his life had come to this point. 

"Thanks," Erica said as the credits rolled, nudging him with her foot. "For coming over. And staying."

He nodded silently, because _you're welcome_ was apparently beyond him. 

"I guess I just wanted someone to talk to who hasn't known me and Boyd since high school." She picked at the label on her bottle of beer, not quite meeting his gaze. 

"That's why you texted me?" He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Because you wanted someone to talk to?"

She looked up at him, confused. "Why did you think I texted you?"

 _Because you're my client, and I had no idea we were friends_ , he didn't say. Even he could exercise a little tact sometimes. 

The silence stretched out just enough to get uncomfortable, and then she shrugged, picking up the last slice of pizza. 

"You were right," she said. "If I'd wanted someone to comfort me, I would've called Allison. And if I'd wanted someone to come in and take over, I would've called Lydia. Since I texted _you_ , I guess I wanted someone who would just sit here with me silently while trying not to get any feelings on them. Good job." 

That could've been mean, but it didn't sound mean. It sounded like she meant it. He really didn't understand her at all. 

"Go put in Save the Last Dance," she said, nudging him again. "We aren't done here yet."

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
I think I'm going to be here a while. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
dance movies are like pringles with that girl

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
You could've warned me. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
what would be the fun in that

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
stop texting me and watch the movie, erica doesn't like it when you don't pay attention to the tatum

"Hurry up, I don't have all night," Erica said. 

"One more," Derek said, because a line needed to be drawn somewhere. "One more movie, and then you're calling Boyd and I'm going home."

"I have no idea why Stiles thinks you're charming," she said. 

Derek didn't say, _neither do I_ , but she seemed to read it in his face anyway. 

"No," Erica said, kicking him more insistently. "I'm not dealing with that tonight. Go put on the movie."

They watched yet another entire movie of people dancing, Derek managed to keep his opinions about movie quality to a minimum, and at one point, Erica tucked her ice cold feet under his leg, and he didn't immediately shove her legs onto the floor. 

It was possible they were friends. 

He didn't know why Erica wanted to _be_ friends with him, but he wasn't about to ask her. 

When he got home, he pulled his phone out on autopilot and composed a message to speed dial #2. 

_**To: Stiles**_  
I cut her off at two. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
did she tell you what the fight was about? boyd didn't say, it must have been too stupid for him to cop to

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
Yeah, it was. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
did you stage a wedding intervention? that sounds like a TLC show

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
No. I just let her rant at me for a while and then we watched some movies. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
are we going to talk about you and erica being BFFs now or what?

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
We aren't BFFs. I didn't even know we were friends. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
she's been making friendship overtures for months

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
I have the proof right here on my phone

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
"erica is bothering me"

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
"erica is bothering me again"

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
I don't think those are actual quotes but they might be it sounds like you

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
You need to clear out your inbox more often. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
texts are all we've got at the moment, maybe I didn't want to delete them

Derek had walked right into that one, hadn't he. 

A month or two ago, he might've felt guilty about it, but now ... now, they were almost done with this, and it had been worthwhile, at least for Derek. He hadn't been ready for anything three months ago. He thought he was ready now. He wasn't sure he would've gotten there any other way but this, at a distance, where he wouldn't be blinded by his attraction to Stiles and could almost trust his own judgment. 

He might not have gotten there without Stiles' friends, either. Stiles had a whole lot of people who loved and trusted him, which made Derek more inclined to trust him. Derek still wasn't sure he liked the way he and Laura had both been drawn in, how close Laura was getting to Allison, how it suddenly mattered to him what Erica thought of him, but he'd never had any illusions that he'd be able to get involved with Stiles and not have to take his friends as a package deal. 

If the major catch of life with Stiles was watching dance movies with Erica and letting Lydia pick out his clothes, then -- Derek had definitely had worse. 

_**To: Stiles**_  
I'll see you day after tomorrow.

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
believe me I know

 _ **To: Stiles**_  
And then you're going to clear out your inbox. 

_**From: Stiles**_  
no promises

Derek smiled, shaking his head. 

_**To: Stiles**_  
Goodnight.

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
night

 _ **From: Stiles**_  
see you soon


	3. Erica & Boyd

"Don't puke in my car," Scott said, peering at Stiles in the rearview mirror. 

"Watch the road," Stiles said. He was hunched over in the back seat, knuckles pressed to his mouth, and okay, he probably looked like he was about to vomit, but that was no excuse for unsafe driving.

Allison twisted around in the passenger seat, leaning back to put a hand on his knee. 

"Do we need to pull over?" Her expression kept shifting from amused to concerned and back again. "Stiles?"

"No." He wasn't going to throw up on the side of the road on the way to the wedding, that was definitely not going to happen. "I'm fine, you guys, ease up, seriously."

He was going to see Derek in a matter of hours. But he was fine. No big deal. 

Allison's phone chirped. She settled back into her seat and peered at the screen, laughing behind her hand. 

"What," Stiles said. He had suspicions. 

"Oh, nothing," Allison said. She was an even worse liar than Scott, sometimes. Unfortunately for her, Stiles was sitting right behind her and could see every word on her phone. 

**_To: Allison / From: Laura_**  
Derek is trying so hard to be stoic right now I'm worried he might pull a muscle.

He could also see Allison's reply. 

**_To: Laura / From: Allison_**  
does he look like he might throw up? stiles looks like he might throw up. 

"Stop telling Laura incriminating things about me," Stiles said, forcing himself to sit up a little straighter and look a little less like seeing Derek was going to make him physically ill. 

"Stop reading over my shoulder," Allison shot back, turning her phone away from him. 

"Look at it this way," Scott said. "You can't embarrass yourself in front of Laura any worse than you already have."

"You just jinxed me," Stiles groaned, pressing his forehead to the back of Allison's seat. "Oh, god, you just jinxed me, I'm doomed." 

Allison's phone chirped again. In the window reflection, Stiles read: 

**_To: Allison / From: Laura_**  
Tell Stiles he has nothing to worry about. 

"Laura says—"

"I know, I can read," Stiles said. 

" _Stop it,_ " Allison said, angling her phone down. 

"Okay, now I can't read," he said. "Tell me what you're saying."

"No."

"Then turn on some music or something," Stiles said. He wasn't begging, because he didn't beg, but he did sound less than impressive. 

Allison reached for the radio dial. 

"Wait, wait, no," Stiles said. Allison's hand hovered in midair. "What if you turn on the radio and it's a wedding song, I don't want to listen to any wedding songs right now, it's too early in the day for Bryan Adams."

"My iPod is in the glove compartment," Scott said, laughing. 

"Got it," Allison said, plugging it in. "What do you want to listen to, Stiles?"

"I don't care, so long as it isn't a wedding song," Stiles said. "Anything." 

Allison bit her lip, head bent over Scott's iPod. 

Crazy In Love blasted out of the speakers. 

"I hate you," Stiles said. 

"Aww, no you don't," Allison said, turning up the volume. 

*

"Derek!"

Lydia. Three months on, he hadn't forgotten her voice at all. 

Derek turned around, trying to look friendly, or at least not at all like he was panicking. 

Lydia came to an abrupt halt and took a step back, which was a pretty good sign that he'd failed.

"I knew pinstripes would look good on you," she said. Oh. She wasn't backing away from him, she was just admiring her handiwork. "Straighten your tie and it'll be perfect."

"Hello to you too, Lydia," Derek said. 

She waved a hand dismissively. "What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be at the hall?"

"Erica asked me to come," he said, sounding every bit as uncomfortable as he felt. "I can't stay for the whole ceremony, but — she asked."

"That's nice," Lydia said, semi-sincerely, and then her eyes widened, a frighteningly gleeful look stealing over her face. "Does Stiles know you're going to be at the ceremony?"

"No," Derek said. Erica had just asked him to come the other night, he hadn't wanted it to be a big deal. "I'm going to sit in the back, he won't even notice I'm there." 

"Sure he won't." She spun on a blue satin heel, calling back over her shoulder: "Keep telling yourself that." 

Derek had a moment to himself to regret ever having met Lydia, and then a graying brunette in a green dress walked up to him, her eyes narrowed.

"I heard the name 'Derek,'" she said. 

He had no idea who she was. She was looking at him like she had a very good idea who _he_ was. He didn't like it. 

"Yes," he said cautiously. 

"Derek as in Stiles' Derek?" 

Who _was_ she? She was somewhat familiar, the more he looked at her. All that meant was that she'd been at the last wedding, too. She looked like someone's mom — not that he was going to say that out loud now, or at any point — but he had no idea whose. 

He also had no idea how to answer that question. 

"I'm Derek," he said. That seemed safe enough. 

"Uh-huh," she said, her tone making it clear she'd noticed the evasion. "I'm Melissa McCall." She offered him a hand, and he shook it gingerly, his mind racing. Scott's mom. Scott's mom was in a relationship with Stiles' dad. He needed to make a good impression right now. 

"It's nice to meet you," Derek said, as politely as he could manage. _Polite_ wasn't something he did terribly well, so he wound up sounding bored, instead. There was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes; was that good or bad? "We didn't get a chance — at Scott's wedding." 

"I hear you had other things on your mind at Scott's wedding," Melissa said, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

"The music," he said, willfully misunderstanding.

"We're going to talk at the reception." She glanced over his shoulder. "You can thank me then, because you're about to owe me, big time."

He turned to see a man in a matching green tie headed toward them, an affable smile on his face. 

"No sign of Stiles and Scott yet," the man said to Melissa, glancing over Derek. "Who's this?"

"Friend of Boyd's," Melissa said, putting a hand on the man's elbow and steering him toward the inner doors. "Come on, let's find our seats before the boys get here."

That was Stiles' dad. 

Stiles' dad was here. Stiles hadn't said _anything_ about that. At all. 

"Huh," Stiles' dad said, glancing back at Derek. "Maybe I should introduce—" 

"Oh, the flowers are _lovely_ ," Melissa said, and then they were through the doors and safely away from Derek. 

Derek wasn't ready for this yet. He wasn't ready to meet the family, that was a step beyond any commitment he could currently give. He'd already met Stiles' friends, and now Melissa, sort of, but — Stiles' dad — he knew how close Stiles was to his dad, and he had an idea of how much it would mean to Stiles, and, no, he wasn't ready. 

"Oh, hey, Derek, have you seen — whoa." Isaac was standing right in front of him. When had that happened? "You okay?" 

Derek liked Isaac, or at the very least, he _owed_ him, but there was a real chance that he was going to strangle Isaac if he didn't stop giving Derek the concerned face. He didn't want Isaac's concern, he just wanted this ceremony to be over with so he could talk to Stiles.

"Hang in there, this will all be over soon," Isaac said, then grimaced. "Why am I saying this to you, it isn't your wedding. I'm in a rush here, are you going to be okay if I skip our customary pep talk?"

"I'm fine," Derek said, reluctantly amused. They had a customary pep talk?

"Great. Have you seen Lydia?"

Derek pointed in the direction she'd gone. 

"Thanks," Isaac said, and took off. He'd only just disappeared around the corner when he said, way too loud: 

" _Hey, Stiles_."

Derek grabbed a program and hurried into the back of the church, finding a spot to stand behind a pillar. 

He was getting strange looks from several of the wedding guests. He didn't care; it wasn't his problem. Erica had only said, _I want you to come to the church,_ not, _I want you to come to the church and absolutely not lurk in the back because you don't want to sit next to Stiles at my wedding._

A minute later, Stiles walked in and breezed right past Derek, waving at his dad. 

Derek really had to work on Stiles' situational awareness. 

*

Allison spent the rest of the drive out to the church texting her thumbs off and mocking Stiles with her musical selections. Scott laughed every time a new song came on and bopped his head along, because Stiles' friends were cruel and unusual. 

They ran into Isaac the moment they stepped through the front doors of the church. Isaac looked harried and sleep-deprived, and Stiles was just about to tell him, _I know that feel, bro_ when Isaac almost shouted: 

"Hey, Stiles!" 

"Uh, hey, Isaac," Stiles said, wondering how much coffee Isaac had consumed to get him through this wedding. "You look a little — anything we can help with?"

"No, no, I'm good," Isaac said, and then after a pause, added, " _Stiles!_ "

Stiles watched him go, then turned to Scott and Allison, eyebrows raised. 

"That guy needs a beer and a nap," Stiles said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "I hope he remembered the rings."

They turned the corner. A handful of people were socializing in the foyer; no one Stiles knew was out there, but Allison immediately went over and started hugging people. Some of her and Boyd's work friends, probably. 

"I'm going to see if Dad and Melissa are here," Stiles said. He took a wedding program from a serious-looking kid in a suit — six years old, tops, kids in suits were _adorable_ —and scanned the schedule as he walked up the center aisle. Readings: standard, music: standard. 

"Stiles," his dad called. He looked up, waving. His dad and Melissa were seated in the third row on the right. Stiles took a seat in the second row, twisting around and dangling an arm over the back of the pew. 

"I'm glad you came," he said. Their invitation had been last minute, but Stiles had the impression that most of Erica's family had declined to show up to her wedding, and he wasn't averse to sharing his dad with his friends. "Looking good, Dad, you clean up nice." 

"You sound surprised," his dad said dryly. "This is the same thing I wore to Scott's wedding."

"Well, it's nice. You—" What was Melissa doing with her face? She was kind of jumping her eyebrows to one side. He hadn't even known she could do that. "I, um, you look nice too, Melissa?"

She sighed, looking incredibly disappointed with him. 

"Thank you, Stiles," she said. "You look _very_ nice. Is that a new tie?" She smirked. "And new cologne?" 

"Yes. No," Stiles said. "Yes to the tie, Lydia insisted. No to the cologne, I just don't wear it very much." 

He pretty much only ever wore cologne on dates, and even if the wedding itself didn't qualify as a date — which he thought it might — he _definitely_ had a date afterward. Yep. He had a date. With Derek. 

Derek. 

"Oh, wow," Stiles said, staring at his dad and Melissa. 

Stiles had been so single-minded about the fact that he was going to see Derek soon that it hadn't occurred to him until that exact moment that _his dad would be seeing Derek soon_. 

Wait a minute, hold on. Stiles had told his dad three months ago that Derek was going to be DJing Erica and Boyd's wedding, and when Erica had invited them, his dad hadn't said a _word_. He'd known Stiles hadn't connected the dots! He'd totally known, and he hadn't said anything to bring it to Stiles' attention, so Stiles wouldn't have time to prepare an adequate defense. 

His dad was _so sneaky_. 

"Hey, Melissa, can you get a ride to the ceremony with Scott and Allison?" He needed to lay down some rules before they got to the ceremony. "I'm going to ride over with Dad."

"Sure," Melissa said. She was doing that thing with her face again, what _was_ that? 

His dad gave him a perfectly clueless look that Stiles didn't buy at all. "Something you want to talk about, son?"

"Nope," Stiles said, trying to give his poker face back to him. "Nothing I can think of. You?"

"Nope," his dad said. "It's all right, I'm sure we'll find something to discuss." 

And this was what Derek was going to be trapped in a room with. For hours. He hadn't warned Derek, at all. 

It was a good thing he wasn't Derek's boyfriend yet, because if he were, he'd be the worst boyfriend _ever_. 

*

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
heads up, my dad is here

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
I know.

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
you do? how? 

Derek glared at the back of Stiles' head. 

**_To: Stiles_**  
I just do. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
oh did laura tell you

Derek hadn't seen Laura since she'd left the house ahead of him; he doubted she'd seen Stiles' dad yet, or she would definitely have given him a warning.

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
Stop texting me in church. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
we need to talk about this

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
Later. 

"Put your phone away, Stiles," he heard Melissa say. She shot Derek a dirty look, and he quickly put his phone in his pocket. That got him an amused smile, and Stiles _still didn't notice_. 

Stiles never caught on to Derek's presence in the back of the church, at all. 

This was clearly a source of enormous entertainment for his friends. Scott, Allison and Danny were all with Stiles in the second row, and Scott and Allison in particular kept looking at Derek and nudging each other, grinning. Masters of subtlety, both of them. 

Stiles was oblivious the entire time. Even when Melissa shushed Scott and Allison. Even when Erica caught Derek's eye from up front and smiled at him. 

He stayed as long as he could — long enough to see them exchange rings, not long enough to watch Boyd's cousin do several readings, no great loss there. He made it back to the hall with a comfortable amount of time left to finish his set up, and then ... 

He waited. 

He rolled up his sleeves. He rolled them back down. He changed his mind and rolled them up again, Erica wouldn't care if he was a little casual and the hall was early July warm, even with the air blasting overhead. He straightened his tie. Three times. He paced back and forth behind the table, double-checked everything twice, brushed invisible lint off the tablecloth.

The bartender was watching him, bemused. 

Derek rotated his shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension that had his muscles in knots. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. 

**_From: Laura_**  
Ceremony just ended, everyone is headed over. 

He dropped his phone, tried to catch it, missed, and swore loudly as it skidded halfway across the dance floor. 

"Dropped your phone," the bartender observed. 

"Thank you for the information," Derek bit out. 

When he picked his phone up off the floor, there was a second text on it: 

**_From: Laura_**  
Try to chill out.

 ** _To: Laura_**  
I'm fine.

 ** _From: Laura_**  
Do you think I'm new? Chill.

He turned his phone off and stashed it in his bag. He wasn't going to need it tonight, anyway. 

For the first time in almost three months, he wasn't going to be waiting on texts from Stiles. Stiles was going to be right here. 

*

"Spit it out," his dad said, the minute they got on the road. 

"It's possible I didn't think about the fact that you and Derek were both going to be here," Stiles said. 

"Oh, it's possible," his dad said. 

"I didn't warn — tell him, I didn't tell him you were going to be here."

"Well, that wasn't very nice of you, son."

His dad was enjoying this way too much. 

"Look, we haven't even gone out on a date yet," Stiles said, making a quick gesture that meant _date_. "If I'd realized — okay, fine, I don't know what I would have done differently other than warn — tell Derek, because my life is awkwardness and weddings right now and there's no escaping any of it, but—"

Stiles sighed. He wasn't sure how his dad was going to react to Stiles telling him, _I'm not ready to do a meet the parents with you and Derek yet._ Particularly given everything that had happened with Sarah. 

He just wanted to go out on a _date_. 

"You want me to give you two some space tonight," his dad said. 

"Yes," Stiles said. "I'm sure you want to sit him down and ask him about," he tried to remember what his dad had asked Sarah about at dinner, that night. "His family and his interests and his five-year plan, or whatever. But we really need to do some actual dating first." 

"All right," his dad said. "I—"

"And no menacing dad routine at the reception, either." Stiles wasn't sure that one would fly, but he could at least give it a shot. "No glaring at him from across the room or pulling out your badge or — or _anything_." 

"I never got a chance to intimidate one of your dates," his dad said thoughtfully. "But it sounds like fun, and you'll never be too old." 

"I am," Stiles tried. "I am definitely too old for you to mess with my dates, come on."

"We'll see," his dad said. 

"You can intimidate him later. I'll bring him over for dinner and we'll make a night of it, you—" His dad was smiling. "You're messing with _me_ right now, aren't you."

"Maybe," his dad said. 

"Definitely," Stiles said. He hesitated. He could leave it there, but all things considered, he owed his dad a more solid guarantee. "I will bring him over. Soon. This isn't like with Sarah." 

"I didn't think it was," his dad said. 

Stiles hadn't brought Sarah home until they'd been dating for over a year. He'd said to his dad, _I think she's the one_ , and his dad had said, _I think you're making a mistake_. They hadn't spoken for a month and a half. 

In retrospect, he knew that he wouldn't have waited so long to bring her to Beacon Hills if he'd thought it was going to go well. 

"You talk about him an awful lot," his dad said. "Every other word out of your mouth has been _Derek._ I already know more about him than I ever knew about Sarah." 

Stiles didn't think the guilt trip in that was intentional, but he winced anyway. 

"I just meant," his dad said, sighing, "that it was a red flag. You never talked about her. I worried about what that meant, and I was right to worry. But you never stop talking about Derek. I know this isn't like it was with Sarah."

"I'm — you know I'm sorry about Sarah, right?" He glanced over at his dad. "I'm sorry." 

"Hey." His dad didn't take his eyes off the road, because he wasn't Scott, but he did shift his arm to bump his elbow against Stiles'. "You never had to apologize for—"

"Yeah, I did. I do. When you—" Stiles wasn't sure if this was the best time to be talking about it, but the floodgates were officially open. "When you told me I was making a mistake, I said some things, and I've never—"

"Yeah, well," his dad said, and sighed. Again. "I shouldn't have said that. It was your mistake to make."

"You were right," Stiles said. "I should have listened. And if you think I'm making a mistake with Derek ... you should tell me."

"All right, I will," his dad said, in a tone that made it sound more like, _I think that's a terrible idea, but if you ask me to, I will_. "If I think you are." 

"But not tonight," Stiles said. "No dad interventions until _after_ the first date. That we're having. Tonight." 

"Stiles," his dad said. "Relax. It's going to be fine." 

"You say that without even having gotten a good look at him yet," Stiles muttered. "Scott's wedding doesn't count, I didn't see you go anywhere near the DJ table that night." 

"Tall, dark, and annoyed?"

Stiles' heart skipped a beat. "I ... yes?"

"He was at the ceremony," his dad said. "Didn't figure it out at first, but then your friends kept turning around to look at him and laughing like idiots."

Stiles stared at him. There was no way Derek had been at the ceremony and Stiles hadn't noticed.

"We need to work on your situational awareness, son," his dad said, pulling into the banquet hall parking lot. 

*

The first wedding guests started coming in five minutes after Laura's texts. 

Derek tensed up every time someone walked through the doorway, forced himself to relax, and repeated the process, over and over; it was bordering on torture. 

Melissa McCall and Stiles' dad walked in. 

Stiles' dad looked over at Derek, pursed his lips, and ... walked over to an empty table, dropping his name card on one of the plates and sitting down. Melissa sat next to him, glancing back and forth between Derek and Stiles' dad before leaning in to talk to him, her eyebrows raised. 

He laughed, looking over at Derek and away again. Derek had no idea what was going on, and it wasn't doing anything good for his nerves. 

When Derek heard Stiles' voice, he was almost as relieved to have backup as he was just to see Stiles. 

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," Stiles was saying. "All of you are—"

Stiles came to a halt just inside the room, staring at Derek. Scott ran into his back, knocking him forward a step. 

All the tension drained out of Derek at once. 

Stiles grinned at Derek, bouncing in his toes. 

"Hi, Derek," Scott called over, rolling his eyes and stepping around Stiles. Allison, Danny and the next several people also stepped around Stiles, because Stiles was just standing there, beaming at Derek. 

Derek crooked a finger at him, mostly to get him out of the flow of traffic. Stiles swayed forward like Derek had pulled his strings, and then he made his way across the room at what could be charitably described as a fast walk, stopping only when Derek said, "watch the cables, Stiles." 

Stiles carefully made his way behind the table, and leaned in for a kiss. 

Derek hadn't thought this through. Or, no, he had, but he'd had incomplete information at the time; he hadn't minded the idea of annoying Scott with PDA, or whatever it was Stiles had said, but Stiles' _dad_ was another matter entirely. 

He stopped Stiles with a hand on his chest and called out, "Scott!" 

Scott came over, Allison and Danny in his wake. "What?" 

Derek turned Stiles around and pushed him out from behind the table, carefully. He pointed at the space they'd just vacated, waiting until Scott circled the table, taking Derek's place. 

"Watch my equipment," Derek said. "Don't touch anything." 

"Fine," Scott said, folding his arms. "But you owe me."

"Get in line, I already owe your mom," Derek said.

"Oh my god," Stiles said, appalled. "Did you already meet my dad? He didn't say—"

"No. That's why I owe Scott's mom." Derek reached for his hand, tilting his head toward the doorway. "Come on, I'm not doing this here." 

"Doing what he—oh," Stiles said. He didn't say anything else, just followed Derek out of the room, shifting his palm against Derek's to link their fingers. 

There were people in the hallway. There were people around the entrance. Derek walked out into the mid-afternoon heat, his hand tight on Stiles' as they turned a corner, and then there were no more people in sight and Derek was pressing Stiles back against the yellow brick of the banquet hall. 

Stiles kissed him — for a second, and then he leaned his head back, laughing. That wasn't exactly a reaction Derek had been expecting. 

"Sorry," Stiles said, making a face that could almost pass for apologetic. "Honestly, it's just ridiculous that I missed you this much when I've spent six hours in your presence, tops." 

"You blew out my texting plan," Derek grumbled, flattening his palms against the brick so he wouldn't give in to the temptation to wrinkle Stiles' suit. "I had to upgrade to unlimited, it—"

Stiles cupped Derek's face in his hands when he kissed him again, tilting Derek's head, his tongue grazing Derek's lower lip. Derek wasn't sure this was a good idea — he trusted Scott with his equipment for two minutes, at the outside — but he opened his mouth for Stiles anyway, fingers curling against the brick, wanting to touch. 

When they pulled apart, Stiles sighed, stroking a thumb back and forth over Derek's cheek. 

"I have a job to do," Derek said, as much to remind himself as to remind Stiles. "I can't spend the entire evening—" 

"I know you can't, I know," Stiles said, kissing the corner of his mouth before letting him go. "But you're going to dance with me this time, right? I have several requests." 

"You can ask for anything you want," Derek said, and he'd meant _music_ , but Stiles slid a hand into his hair and pulled him back in, not at all concerned about rumpling Derek's clothes. 

Two minutes turned into ten. 

*

Derek looked a little worse for wear when they went back inside. Okay, a _lot_ worse. 

"Your—" Stiles waved a hand in a circle around his head. "Your hair, you might want to — do something about that." 

Derek sighed in a way that Stiles had a feeling meant, _dammit, Stiles_. He also had a feeling he'd be hearing that one a lot, so he made a careful note of it. 

He followed Derek into the men's bathroom. When Derek got a good look at himself in the mirror, he actually said, "dammit, Stiles," confirming everything. 

"What, I'm sorry, but, have you _seen_ you," Stiles said. Derek glared at him in the mirror, doing his best to make it look less like Stiles had practically mauled him. " _Three months_ , Derek. And only one of us got to enjoy that phone call properly, I'm just saying." 

"That was _your_ bad idea, not mine," Derek said. 

"Hey, _you_ called _me_ ," Stiles said, watching Derek run his fingers through his hair. "And it wasn't my fault you came at me with the sex voice." 

"I didn't _come at you_." Derek gave up on his hair, moving on to trying to fix his clothes. His shirt was untucked, his tie wasn't so much askew as mostly undone, and there were highly visible wrinkles in the back of his vest. Well, at least he'd have his back to the wall for most of the night, no one would notice. 

Lydia would notice. When she saw what Stiles had done to her hard work, she was probably going to smack him.

"I'm sorry about springing my dad on you," Stiles said, leaning back against the counter. "I honestly forgot about all the—" He waved a hand. "Ramifications of you and him, being here, the two of you. I was kind of focused on the _you_ part." 

Derek sighed, letting go of his tie to rub at his forehead. 

"I'm not ready to meet your dad," Derek said. 

"Thank god," Stiles said. "Me either. I mean, I've met him, obviously, but I'm not ready for _you_ to meet him, I just want to go out a couple times and do normal date things and then we can talk about you meeting my dad."

"Good," Derek said, almost comically relieved. 

"Not that there's anything wrong with my dad, or you," Stiles hastened to clarify. "But my dad doesn't get to grill you before I do." Derek was giving him such a look right now. "That came out wrong." 

"If there's something you want to ask, ask," Derek said. 

"Before I go out on a date with you," Stiles said, making the _date_ gesture again. "Is what I meant. I don't need to grill you, I'm pretty well-informed about you already."

Derek raised his eyebrows. "Are you." 

"I have it on good authority that you cry during _Up_ ," Stiles said. 

"You've been spending too much time with Laura," Derek grumbled. 

"I've seen her maybe three times since Scott's wedding."

"Like I said." Derek frowned. "What about Melissa? She said something about wanting to talk to me at the reception."

Stiles took a moment to think it over. 

"It's not the same," he said. His dad and Melissa had been together for several years now, and she was family, but it wasn't the same. He didn't feel the same _you have to like each other or else_ with Derek and Melissa. "Talk to her, don't talk to her, it's up to you." 

Derek nodded. "I should get back." 

"Right," Stiles said. "Tuck in your shirt first, you look indecent." 

Derek looked a whole lot like he wanted to smack Stiles. "I wonder how that happened." 

"I have no idea," Stiles said, backing out of the bathroom. 

Danny was waiting for them in the hallway. 

"Scott is threatening to sell your laptop on eBay if you don't get back in there soon," he said.

Derek made a frustrated sound and took off down the hall. 

Danny watched Derek go, then gave Stiles a level look, not saying anything. 

"What, I told him to tuck in his shirt," Stiles said. 

*

Scott hadn't broken anything, and he didn't complain too loudly about Derek abandoning him at the table for almost fifteen minutes. 

He didn't go away, either. 

"Stiles won't tell me what your other job is," Scott said, staring Derek down across the table, or trying to, anyway. "He said you do something else, but he won't say what. Is it illegal?" 

"No," Derek said. 

"Is it dirty?" Allison asked, then bit her lip, muffling a laugh. 

"No," Derek said. 

"Are you a secret agent?" Scott was trying to sound serious, but he wasn't pulling it off. 

The set-up was too good to resist. "I could tell you, but then I'd—" 

"All right, enough," Melissa said, waving the pair of them away as she walked up to the table. She waited until they'd retreated, then turned to Derek, folding her arms. "So what _do_ you do outside of weddings, Mr. Hale?"

They were going to do this now? Okay, they were going to do this now, that was fine. 

"Home restoration," he said. "I don't know what Stiles told Scott — it isn't a job, it's just what I do."

She looked surprised. "You're fixing up a house?"

"Yes," he said. It was more involved than that, and it wasn't one house so much as three in a row, now, but essentially, yes. "Back to the way it was when it was built."

"Oh, I've read about that," she said. "Period-appropriate paint colors, that sort of thing?"

He nodded. 

"That sounds like a lot of research," Melissa said, and smiled. "Stiles must love that."

Derek hadn't thought about that. Stiles _would_ love it. They hadn't talked about it much. 

He glanced over the room, looking for Stiles. Instead, he saw Scott and Allison nursing their drinks at the closest table to the dance floor, pretending not to watch Melissa question him. 

Melissa turned, following his gaze. Scott and Allison ducked their heads at the same time. They were so bad at spying on him that he couldn't hold it against them, as much as he wanted to.

"They care about Stiles, and Stiles obviously cares about you," she said, turning back to Derek. "I know it's a lot to deal with, but try to cut them a little slack." She sighed, her tone turning apologetic. "And John is going to be a _lot_ to deal with, but try to cut him some slack, too. He hasn't done this much before."

Derek didn't know what to make of that. The flip side to not wanting to tell Stiles about everything that had happened last year was that he didn't know much about Stiles' relationship history, either. 

"You're welcome for earlier, by the way," Melissa said. 

"Thank you," Derek said, sincerely. 

"Now that I know what you do, I intend to cash in the favor you owe me for home repair," she said.

"All right," he said quickly. If home repair was all she wanted, he could do that, no problem. 

"Don't look so happy," she said. "You haven't seen my house yet." 

Yet. 

*

"Congratulations," Stiles said. 

"Congratulations on looking like a fool in my grandma's church," Boyd said, but he shook Stiles' hand, anyway. "She thinks my friends are disrespectful, and I did not correct her."

"I didn't know," Stiles protested. "I wasn't doing anything, I was just standing there."

"Yeah, Grandma isn't mad at you," Boyd said, which was reassuring, because his grandma could be terrifying. "But Scott and Allison are on her list."

It was a rare day when _Allison_ was on someone's list, and not Stiles. He was going to enjoy this while it lasted. 

"I should say hi to your grandma, where is she?"

"Leave Grandma alone." Boyd gave him an unimpressed look. "I can't believe you didn't notice your creepy boyfriend lurking in the back of my wedding."

"He isn't my boyfriend," Stiles said. "And, hey, he isn't creepy, either."

"I noticed which one you corrected first, don't think I didn't," Boyd said. 

*

"Congratulations," Derek said. 

Erica narrowed her eyes at him, like she was trying to decide whether he was being genuine or not. Then she smiled, sunny and not a little bit smug. 

"Yeah, I locked that down," she said, tilting her head toward Boyd, who was talking to Stiles across the room. Derek almost choked, giving her a disbelieving look. "What, is it only cool when guys say stuff like that? I did. All mine. Tapping that for the rest of my life." 

Something occurred to him for the first time. "Are you Erica Boyd now? That sounds—" 

"Weird, right? If you said, 'hey, it's Erica Boyd!' someone would turn around expecting both of us. No. I'm still Erica Reyes." She touched a finger to the top edge of his laptop. "We should be ready to start soon, are you all set here?"

"Yes," he said. 

"You have the Ciara I asked for too, right?" He nodded. "Good, because I am going to dance all up on Boyd. And maybe Isaac. And anyone else I want, it's my wedding." She gave him a speculative look. 

"No," he said flatly. 

Erica laughed. "Yeah, no. As much fun as it would be to see Stiles go all _get your hands off my man_." 

"What about Stiles?" Stiles asked, coming up alongside her at the table. 

"Nothing," Erica said. "I have to go pretend to like Boyd's cousin Davis, I'll talk to you two later."

Stiles gave her a minute to get out of range. 

"I saw you talking to Melissa," he said. "How did it go?"

"I think we're good, so long as I do repairs on her house," Derek said. 

"That's great," Stiles said, looking pleased. "Things have been breaking nonstop pretty much since Dad and Melissa moved in, it's kind of a fixer-upper. You like those."

"Is that right," Derek said, amused. 

"Scott and I have been banned from trying to fix anything since that time with the kitchen sink." Derek wasn't going to ask. "Actually, there are some things in my dad's — in my house that, I." Stiles looked unsure suddenly. 

"That you'd like me to fix," Derek prompted. 

"Yeah." Stiles stuck his hands in his pockets, ducking his head. "My dad never had the time, and since I moved back I haven't, I mean, nothing critical is broken, just some," he shrugged one shoulder, "little things."

Derek tilted his head, waiting until Stiles looked up at him. 

"Why didn't you tell Scott about the restoration work I'm doing?" 

"Because you seemed touchy about it," Stiles said. "I didn't think it was a thing you wanted me discussing with people."

That ... wasn't completely inaccurate. 

"You could tell that from texts?" Derek asked. 

"You read enough of someone's texts, you start to notice patterns," Stiles said. Sometimes Derek wondered why Stiles had gone into library science instead of becoming a police officer like his dad. 

"It's okay to ask me if you want my help," Derek said. "I want you to ask me." 

"Okay," Stiles said. Derek thought that was going to be the end of the discussion, but then Stiles kept going: "What the place really needs is a paint job. Not that I can't do that on my own, I might not be able to successfully fix a sink with Google and my dad's toolbox but I _can_ put paint on a wall, but I'll bet you're better at it than I am and it would go faster if you helped." 

"That's—" 

"I already have the paint for my bedroom, we could start there." Derek smirked, but Stiles rolled right on, not giving Derek a window for innuendo. "I haven't done anything with it since I moved back in. It looks pretty much exactly like it has since I was thirteen, it — oh, hey." Stiles grinned. "This could be a project. We could defile my childhood bedroom, and then I could redecorate it and make it look like an adult might live there." 

Derek waited a moment to make sure Stiles was done, then he said: "Defile your childhood bedroom?"

"I've never dated anyone in Beacon Hills before," Stiles said, turning pink. "That room has been waiting a tragically long time to see some action, I should probably apologize to it. Not that it hasn't seen _any_ action, I mean, I — and I kissed Danny in there once in eleventh grade, but that wasn't really—"

"You kissed Danny?" Derek spotted Danny at Scott and Allison's table. He didn't notice Derek eyeing him. 

"Yeah, _eight years ago_ , oh my god," Stiles said, waving a hand through Derek's line of sight. "You're not about to go all alpha male on my first kiss, are you? Because that isn't attractive."

"Sorry," Derek said, entirely insincere. 

"You sound just like Erica when she fake-apologizes, no wonder she likes you so much," Stiles muttered. 

"Hi, Stiles," Laura said, stopping briefly to take a picture of them as she walked up to the table. "Go grab a seat, Erica says they're ready for speeches."

"See you later," Stiles said, giving Derek a smile over his shoulder as he walked away. 

"He didn't even say hi," Laura said, shaking her head. "Kids these days."

" _Hi, Laura,_ " Stiles shouted back, not turning around. 

"That's all I ask," she said. "By the way? Saw that outside, earlier. Didn't take any pictures despite Erica trying to convince me otherwise, you're welcome."

"Don't tell Stiles," Derek said. He couldn't get too worked up about it, himself; he'd lived with her his entire life, it wasn't like she hadn't seen him kissing anyone before. "He's determined not to do anything embarrassing in front of you today."

"That'll be the day," she said. 

*

"Hold up, hold up, you're about to fall on your face," Stiles said, ducking to free the back of Erica's skirt from under Isaac's feet. Isaac had his back to them, dancing with one of Boyd and Allison's hot coworkers, and he'd almost taken Erica out five times already. 

Erica steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, craning her neck to peer at her skirt. 

"This thing is a hazard," she said. 

"Mine was, too," Allison said, detaching herself from Scott. "I brought you some pins, hold on, I'll go get them." 

"In the meantime—" Stiles turned Erica in a half-circle. "We're going to dance in this direction now." 

"Aww, that's sweet, Stilinski," she said, smirking at him. "You turned your back to your boyfriend for me and everything." 

Stiles had given up on trying to get his friends not to call Derek his boyfriend tonight. He didn't think Derek could hear them over the music, that was the only saving grace. 

"Yeah, well, someone keeps saying it's _your wedding_ ," he said. "Oh, wait, that's you."

"Damn right I do," she said. 

"So tell me," Stiles said, letting her grab his tie, because it was, after all, her wedding. "What movies did you make him watch? He didn't say."

"Step Up and Save the Last Dance," she said, giving Derek a devious look over Stiles' shoulder. 

"I'll bet he's never seen Dirty Dancing," Stiles said, because he was an enabler. He liked the idea of Erica torturing Derek with dance movies, of Erica and Derek being friends. 

"Oh, I'll bet he has," Erica said. "I know he lives with his sister, you don't think he's seen Dirty Dancing? But don't worry, we'll get to it anyway."

He liked the idea of Derek sticking around long enough for that to happen.

"You're being signaled," Erica said, turning them in a half-circle again. Derek caught Stiles' eye and gestured for him to come over.

When he got to the DJ table, Derek said, "come around. Watch the cables." 

There was a decent amount of space between the table and the wall. When Stiles was safely behind the table, Derek took his hand, drawing him in. 

"What—" The song changed, from Justin Timberlake to Nat King Cole. "Oh. Are we — not Sinatra?"

"Too fast a song for this space," Derek said. "If I played it, you'd have my laptop on the floor in under a minute."

"This is good too," Stiles said. He moved in closer, awkward, not quite sure what to do with his arms. "I should warn you, I don't actually know how to slow dance. With a guy, I mean. I danced with Danny at prom, but that was — a while ago, and I kept stepping on his toes." 

"Just put your hand on my shoulder and follow my lead," Derek said. 

"Hey, what if I want to lead?" Stiles protested, just on principle. 

"Then I'll follow your lead," Derek said impatiently. "But you have to pick one and stick to it. That's all." 

"You," Stiles said, gingerly putting a hand on his shoulder. "You lead, I don't want to step on your toes." 

"That's a first," Derek said. 

"Hah," Stiles said. "Can you be a comedian some other time? The song is playing without us."

He shouldn't have worried; there wasn't much room to maneuver, so all they could do was sway in a small circle, Derek's hand pressed to the small of his back, keeping him close. 

Derek's stubble scratched against Stiles' cheek. It was possible he was going to get more stubble burn from a slow dance than he had from kissing Derek earlier. 

"I'm sorry I didn't," Derek started, and stopped, exhaling against Stiles' ear. "I should have just danced with you at Scott and Allison's wedding."

"Nah," Stiles said. "I like it better this way."

"You like it better that I made you wait three months," Derek said skeptically. 

That wasn't what Stiles had meant. He liked it better now that Derek was calling him over to dance, pulling him in, holding him close, relaxed. Three months ago, Derek had given off a vibe like dancing with Stiles might be a fate worse than death. So yeah, Stiles liked this better. 

"Worth it," he said, instead of getting into all of that. 

Derek's hand tightened around his. "Decided that already?"

"Yeah, actually, I have," Stiles said. He leaned back so that he could look Derek in the eyes. He hadn't been this close in, just looking, unhurried, since Derek had tied his bowtie before Scott's wedding. _Central heterochromia_ , the librarian part of his brain unhelpfully filled in. What, like he was the first person who'd ever done research on a particularly gorgeous set of eyes. "If that's all right with you."

"It's a lot easier to figure out when you're being sarcastic when you're right in front of me," Derek said. 

Stiles smiled. "You seemed to get the hang of it."

"I picked it up as I went along," Derek said, settling his cheek against Stiles' again. 

"Like a foreign language," Stiles said.

"Exactly like that," Derek said, deadpan.

Stiles glanced over at the dance floor. Most of his friends were out there: Scott and Allison. Erica and Boyd. Danny and the nerdy-hot guy he'd been eyeing all night, well done, Danny. 

Isaac and Lydia were standing in line for the bar, Isaac doing his best to fend off Lydia's attempts to fix his hair. 

Stiles pressed his mouth to Derek's shoulder for a moment, muffling a laugh.

Allison caught his eye and smiled at him. He lifted his hand from Derek's other shoulder and gave her a small wave. 

"Song is almost over," Derek said.

Stiles cupped a hand to his jaw and kissed him. No traumatic PDA — Scott was welcome — just a brief, soft kiss, because Derek had waited three months for this, too. 

"I'm saving another spot for you on my dance card," Stiles said. "Last slow dance of the night, we're meeting back here." 

"I'm not going anywhere," Derek said. 

*

Derek stood outside the banquet hall, waiting for Stiles. The wedding guests had left and his equipment was put away in the trunk of his car; the parking lot was mostly empty, the night clear and warm. 

He heard the doors open and shut behind him, but didn't turn around. He knew who was walking up to him by the click of her heels on the cement. 

"Stiles will be out in a minute," Lydia said, stopping next to him. "He's trying to help Isaac find something. They won't tell me what they lost, which means they think I'm going to be mad about it. They're such children sometimes."

Derek glanced over at her. She had her bouquet tucked into the crook of her arm and a small takeaway box of wedding cake in one hand, and she was glaring at the cake box like it'd done something to offend her horribly. 

"I get so tired of weddings," she said, her words clipped. "How do you not get tired of weddings?"

He thought that was rhetorical until he realized she was looking up at him, waiting for an answer. 

"I _am_ tired of weddings," he said. "I don't do this because I like weddings." 

She frowned. "Then why do you do it?" 

"Because it's Laura's business, and I'm helping her out," he said, shrugging.

"So you're a wedding DJ who secretly hates weddings," Lydia said. "I knew it. You're the least enthusiastic DJ I've ever seen."

"There are some clubs in New York I could point you at to correct that," he said.

Lydia sniffed. "I prefer LA."

"Why do _you_ do it?" Derek had only ever seen her in wedding mode, coordinating the hell out of everything. He'd almost gotten used to her bossing him around, or trying to. "If you're so tired of it, why do you keep planning your friends' weddings for them?"

"Because I'm good at it," she said. "Erica and I aren't even close, did you know that? But she asked me, because she knew I'd do everything. So I did."

Erica and Lydia weren't close? He'd just assumed they were, given that Lydia had been her maid of honor. 

"It doesn't matter," she said, pulling a compact out of her purse and checking her lipstick in the blue-white glow of the parking lot floodlights. "It's done. Danny won't let me anywhere near the planning of his wedding, when that day comes, and Isaac can't get a date who isn't secretly heinous." 

She snapped the compact shut, giving him a pointed look.

"If things work out with you and Stiles, it'll probably be you next," she said. "And somehow, I don't see you asking me to do anything for your wedding."

Derek felt blindsided by that one. "We're about to go out on our first date, it's a _little_ too soon to be speculating about—"

"Whether or not you're going to put a ring on it?" She looked him over, her mouth twisting. "Can I ask you something?"

"No," he said. This couldn't be going anywhere he would like. 

Lydia ignored him. "Do you think Stiles has just been patiently sitting by the phone for three months? It isn't patience, it's _inertia_." She tucked the compact back into her purse, her movements so carefully controlled that he half-expected her to start shouting at him at any moment. "He's always been like that. Always. He gets hung up on one person and just stays there, because it's convenient." 

"I don't think Stiles waited it out the last three months because it was _convenient_." No one had ever described Derek as being convenient. 

"He had the perfect boyfriend in his phone. One he never had to argue with or look nice for or commit to. Sounds convenient to me." 

It was the _look nice for_ that tipped him off, because he didn't think that mattered to Stiles all that much, but it sure as hell mattered to Lydia. 

Stiles had told him a bit about Lydia's ex, Jackson. Not a lot, but enough for Derek to realize that Lydia wasn't talking about Stiles, not really. 

She must have recognized his sudden comprehension for what it was, because her mask slipped for a second, and then she smiled, fixing it back into place. 

"All of my high school friends marrying their high school sweethearts," she said. He thought he heard a very slight emphasis on _their_. "And you and Stiles making idiots of yourselves over each other, so cute I could throw up. I'm over it. So Laura and I are going out for drinks, and none of you are invited."

"Call if you need a ride home," Derek said. Laura's alcohol tolerance was like his, almost too high to make drinking worthwhile, but there was a gleam in Lydia's eye that said it was going to be a very long night for the two of them. 

"If we need a ride home, I'll call a cab," Lydia said dismissively. "I know all about your coffee date with Stiles."

Derek shrugged. "You have my number."

Laura's car pulled up alongside. Lydia got in, and Laura rolled the passenger side window down, leaning across to call over to him. 

"We're going out," she said. "I put my camera in your car."

"Be careful," he said. Worrying about her was an instinct that never entirely went away.

"Yeah, you too, be careful," she said, and smirked in a way that made him think—

"Laura." He leaned down to get a better look at her through the open window, glaring. "You'd better not have put anything else in my car." 

He heard Lydia laughing as they drove away. Dammit. The two of them together couldn't equal anything good. 

The door slammed open and shut again a moment later, and Stiles jogged up to him, sounding slightly out of breath. 

"Hi," he said, grinning at Derek. "You ready to go?"

"No," Derek said. "I have important business that I have to take care of first, in an empty parking lot at midnight."

"Hey, I hear you look shifty," Stiles said. 

"I don't look _shifty_ ," Derek objected. 

"That's what I told my dad." Stiles clapped him on the back. "Which car is yours? Wait, let me guess. The intimidatingly hot one."

"If by that you mean the Camaro, then yes," Derek said. 

"I don't mean Isaac's Kia," Stiles said.

Derek put a hand on his back, propelling him toward the car. 

"Um, there's a box of condoms on your backseat," Stiles said, peering in through the window. "Is coffee a euphemism? I thought it meant coffee. Not that I'm not open to putting out on the first date, but we should probably have the first date _first_ , I'm thinking."

"Coffee is coffee," Derek said. "Laura is a pain in the ass."

"Good," Stiles said. "About the coffee, I mean."

"And she saw us earlier," Derek added, deciding he should just rip off the bandage. Laura would undoubtedly tell Stiles later. "When we were outside."

"I _knew_ Scott jinxed me," Stiles sighed. 

"At least you're done going to weddings she'll be at for a while," Derek said. 

"I think you just jinxed me, too."

"Jinxed you how? With more weddings?"

"I'm dating a wedding DJ," Stiles said. "There are always going to be more weddings."

"You aren't technically dating one yet," Derek said. 

"Get in, then," Stiles said, smiling at him over the roof of the car. "Let's get started." 


	4. Photographs

"Favorite comedy," Stiles said.

"You know my favorite comedy."

"Favorite album," Stiles said. 

"You know my favorite album."

"Favorite book," Stiles said. 

"You know my favorite book, Stiles."

"Laura says your favorite book is actually Harry Potter—"

"Harry Potter is seven books," Derek muttered. 

Stiles was almost impressed. "Did you just try out a series technicality on a librarian? I was going to say, Laura says your favorite book is actually Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I would ask if that's true, but I think you just gave me the answer."

They were sitting in the corner booth of a diner, because as it had turned out, every single coffeeshop in Beacon Hills was closed at midnight. Two untouched cups of coffee sat on the table, and Stiles was twirling a fork between his fingers, completely ignoring the pie he'd ordered. 

"It's all right, everyone loves Harry Potter," Stiles said, shrugging. "Even my dad likes Harry Potter. What I really want to know is, why did you tell me your favorite book was Catcher in the Rye? Did you pick a classic at random?"

"No," Derek said. "I liked it when I was a teenager."

Stiles mostly remembered that book as a test Scott had bombed the year his grades had taken a teenage melodrama nosedive. There'd been a certain poetry in it, the perfect confluence of real and fictional teenage angst, but that argument hadn't kept Melissa from declaring a no Stiles week. 

"But it isn't your favorite," Stiles said.

"No," Derek admitted.

"Haven't even read it since you were a teenager, have you?"

Derek twitched a little, which was as good an an admission of guilt.

"So has Harry Potter always been your favorite? Did you read them as a kid, or—?" Stiles would stop interrogating Derek about his reading preferences eventually, but he was running out of getting-to-know-you first date questions to ask. Not that he'd prepared a list, or anything, but ... it was possible he'd prepared a list. 

He already knew the answers to almost everything on his list, but it was the principle of the thing.

Derek hesitated, tapping a finger against the handle of his coffee mug. 

"Not always," he said. He said it like he was telling Stiles something important, and not merely when he'd become interested in Harry Potter. "Laura — she bought me the first five books when I was fifteen."

Stiles scrutinized Derek, trying to figure out what he was missing. 

"I didn't have any other books," Derek said, looking horribly uncomfortable. "Or any — so I read them a lot."

"Well," Stiles said slowly, not sure what door he'd just opened, "if you're going to start a library, that's not a bad place to begin." 

"Laura started hers with The Chronicles of Narnia," Derek said. 

Stiles wondered if that had been when Derek was fifteen, too. He thought probably it was, and he wondered what it said about Derek and Laura that everyone in the books they'd liked then was escaping to somewhere else. 

"Favorite horror movie," Stiles said, sensing a need for a new subject. That was one he didn't know the answer to yet. 

"I don't like horror movies," Derek said. 

There was no chance Stiles would've called that one, but it did explain why he didn't know Derek's favorite. 

"What I'm hearing is that you only like comedies and Pixar films," Stiles said, lightly teasing.

Derek surprised him by merely shrugging, not countering with _I like action movies, where things explode, like my surly dude stereotype suggests._ Okay, maybe Derek wouldn't have said it quite like that. 

"I don't watch many movies," Derek said. "Mostly I watch whatever Laura puts on."

That was more or less the impression Stiles had been under. It explained why he'd let Erica boss him around with her dance movies; that was a typical Thursday night for him, wasn't it. 

"Erica was right, wasn't she," Stiles said, begrudgingly, because he hated it when Erica was right. "You've seen Dirty Dancing."

"More than once."

"I've had a sneaking suspicion for a while now that, left to your own devices, you wouldn't even own a TV," Stiles said. Derek's leisure activities seemed to consist mostly of shopping at Home Depot and hiking in the Preserve.

"Probably not," Derek said. 

"That's, yeah, wow." Stiles tried to wrap his mind around the concept of not having a TV. "Suspecting it is one thing, hearing it is another. It's not that I hate and fear the outdoors, I like the outdoors, but I also like Spider-Man."

"I thought you liked Batman," Derek said. He plucked the fork out of Stiles' hand and pulled Stiles' plate of pie across the table. 

"Yes, you can have my pie," Stiles said. "You're welcome. And I like Batman too. My interests are many and varied."

"What I'm hearing is that you only like superheroes," Derek said mockingly. 

"It's entirely possible to have many and varied superhero interests," Stiles said. "And anyway, you know I like Spider-Man, you're just trying to make conversation."

"I thought that was the point," Derek said. 

Stiles fell silent for a couple minutes, slouched down in the booth, wracking his brain for topics they hadn't already discussed 160 characters at a time. Derek did nothing to fill the silence, only ate pie and eyeballed the handful of other people in the diner. 

"I'm tapped," Stiles finally said, spreading his arms out. "I've got nothing. First date is supposed to be for small talk, gauging interest, but we've texted out all our small talk and we already know we're interested, so ... what? What now?"

"Now, I take you home," Derek said, pushing the empty plate away from him.

"Is that a line?" Stiles asked, signaling for the waitress a little too quickly. "I'm cool with it if it is." 

"It isn't a line," Derek said, his eyebrows drawing together.

"That's unfortunate," Stiles said. "Can it be a line?"

Derek rolled his eyes. 

"I've been working all day, Stiles," he said. "I'm dropping you off at your place, and then I'm going home." 

"This is the least exciting first date I've ever had," Stiles informed him. Granted, there wasn't much competition. 

"I liked it," Derek said, shrugging.

Stiles was skeptical. "You did?"

"It had you and pie, so yeah, I did," Derek said offhandedly, not seeming to realize at all that he'd said something genuinely sweet. 

"When you put it like that, I liked it too," Stiles said. 

"I'm glad we're all agreed," Derek said. "Check, please." 

*

Derek lifted his hand to knock on Stiles' front door and stopped, his knuckles just brushing the wood. 

"You are going to be on your _best behavior_ tonight," Stiles was instructing someone on the other side of the door. "I mean it, dude. I'm serious."

Had Stiles invited Scott? Derek had thought this was a date.

"No funny business of any kind," Stiles said. "No shenanigans. No hijinks. No — don’t make me pull up a thesaurus, because I will. Oh, I should get the mail." 

The door swung open.

" _Oh my god_ ," Stiles shouted, startling back. "What are you — why are you lurking on my porch! Have you heard of knocking? What is _wrong_ with you?" 

"I just got here," Derek said. "Who were you talking to?"

"No one," Stiles said, stepping back and waving Derek inside. "Hey, you look—" His gaze skimmed Derek from head to toe. "Like you aren't at a wedding." He grinned at Derek. "We aren't at a wedding."

"No," Derek said, looking Stiles over. He was wearing jeans and at least two shirts, and his socks were slightly pink in a way that suggested a washing machine accident. Derek wasn't sure what he'd expected Stiles to wear when he wasn't dressed up for a wedding, but this looked — right. More like Stiles. 

"No," Stiles repeated. He curled a hand around the back of Derek's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Derek slid a hand under his shirts, fingertips tracing the knobs of his spine.

"It's July," Derek said, and then, a moment later: "Don't you get hot?"

"Yeah, you're really hot," Stiles mumbled against Derek's mouth, and then pulled back, blinking. "Wait, what?"

"I said—" Derek paused, distracted. The most judgmental calico cat he had ever seen was sitting on the stairs, staring at him. 

Stiles turned to look. 

"Oh, yeah. Derek, cat. Cat, Derek." Stiles waved a hand between them. "Come on, I'll show you the — ah, _crap,_ that doesn't smell promising," and he bolted out of the hallway, leaving Derek alone with the cat. 

"No hijinks," Derek told the cat. 

The cat flicked an ear back. 

Derek was talking to cats now. It was possible Stiles was catching. 

He followed the smell of pasta sauce into the kitchen. It was bright, sunlit and yellow, but what caught Derek's eye were some of those small repairs Stiles had mentioned: cupboard doors that needed the hinges tightened, paint peeling on the doorframes.

"I just saw you click over into fix-it mode," Stiles said, dumping penne into a colander. "I actually _watched it happen_ , it was almost creepy."

"Is this one of the rooms you want to paint?" Derek took the bottle of wine and the corkscrew Stiles handed him and got to work, popping the cork and pouring them each a glass. He wasn't a huge fan of wine, and he didn't think Stiles was either, so maybe wine with dinner was one of those obligatory date things Stiles seemed to be ticking off a list somewhere. 

"Yeah, it could use some sprucing up," Stiles said. He pointed to one of the chairs at the kitchen table and put a bowl of salad down in front of it. "Sit." 

"Only the woodwork, or the walls too?"

Stiles was silent for a moment, back to Derek as he stood at the counter. 

"Wallpaper stays," he said. "My mom picked the wallpaper before I was even born."

That was the first thing Stiles had ever said to Derek about his mother. 

"I think that's why — no, I know it is, I know that's why Dad and Melissa bought a house together." Stiles brought over plates of pasta, vibrating with nervous energy. The plates rattled slightly as he set them on the table. "They needed a place of their own, that was just theirs. You should've heard the whining Scott did, though," and he smiled, his tone changing, becoming lighter. "'Not my childhood bedroom, nooo.' Not his best moment."

"Says the guy living in his childhood bedroom," Derek said. 

"That's what Scott said." Stiles poked at Derek's salad bowl with his fork. "Eat your vegetables."

This date was easier than the last one, probably because Stiles wasn't asking a lot of questions he already knew the answers to and Derek wasn't at the end of a long day. They talked about the same things they always had: Stiles' day, Derek's day, Scott, Laura, the library. 

It was different like this, better, when Derek could see Stiles' shifting expressions, the illustrative movements of his hands. Derek had spent the past three months missing half the conversation.

Maybe that was one of the reasons Derek had liked him so much, so quickly: because everything was right there for Derek to read. 

*

After dinner, they kissed in the kitchen, Derek's hands wet and sudsy from the dishes, soaking the shapes of his fingers into Stiles' clothes. They kissed goodnight, and hello again, and in passing, quick brushes of lips like punctuation marks scattered throughout their dates. 

That was as far as it went, because Derek was — Stiles wasn't sure what. Hesitant, maybe. It took Derek a week and a half to put it into words, to say, "I'm not going to rush into anything," giving Stiles a searching look. 

Stiles had to suppress an extremely inappropriate urge to laugh, because yeah, he knew that, he was aware. See also: three months of texting before they'd even gone on a date. 

And he could hear the silent tag on the end of that sentence, on a lot of Derek's sentences: 

I'm not going to rush into anything _this time_. 

"If there's something you want to talk about," Stiles said, "we can—"

"There isn't," Derek said firmly, and that was the end of it, at least for the moment. 

Stiles could've phrased that better: _if there's something we need to talk about_. He had a feeling he _needed_ to know. But Derek wasn't telling, and Stiles wasn't going to push, not yet. 

He'd already learned that this thing with Derek only had one speed, and that was glacially slow. Stiles was fine with letting Derek set the pace; his sex life hadn't exactly been lively before, and now he had Derek in his life, in his space, all the time. 

If all they ever did on the couch was curl up together while Derek complained about Stiles' favorite movies, well, that was officially one more person than Stiles had been curling up with before. He was ridiculously pleased that Derek was there at all.

Even if Derek _was_ horribly, horribly wrong about Star Wars. Seriously, who had _Luke Skywalker_ as their favorite character? 

They had several Star Wars marathons in a row while Stiles tried to convince Derek of the error of his Han Solo-mocking ways, but Derek wouldn't budge. 

It was a good thing Derek had other positive attributes. This whole Luke vs. Han thing could have been a real deal breaker, otherwise. 

*

"Hel _lo_ ," said the woman at the circulation desk, propping her chin on her palm. "You're looking for Stiles, aren't you?"

Derek eyed her. "How did you know?"

"He has a picture on his phone that does _not_ do you justice," she said. Stiles was showing people a picture of Derek on his phone? What picture?

"You're Danielle, aren't you," Derek guessed. He'd heard stories. Someone else Stiles had gone to high school with, because Beacon Hills was the kind of place no one ever left, it seemed. Unless Lydia counted. He wasn't sure she did; she was back in Beacon Hills all the time. 

"Yes, yes she is," Stiles said, sliding the strap of a messenger bag over his head as he approached. "I'll see you tomorrow, Danielle." He all but shoved Derek out of the library, blinking as they walked out into the sunlight. 

"Not going to show me around?" Derek slid his sunglasses on. 

"There's an iced mocha out there with my name on it," Stiles said. 

Derek shrugged. "We could do this first."

"And go back in and get heckled by Danielle some more, no," Stiles said. "I'll show you around another time. Besides, it isn't that interesting."

"To me, you mean," Derek said. "You don't think it would be that interesting to me." 

"Well, yeah." Stiles glanced at him, one hand wrapped tightly around the strap of his bag where it crossed his chest. "I have yet to meet the person who thought my library tour was fascinating stuff."

Derek thought that said more about the people Stiles showed around than it did about Stiles' library tour.

When Derek didn't say anything, Stiles sighed, waved a hand, and said, "go ahead, ask." 

"Ask what?"

"Why I do this," Stiles said. "Why I didn't follow in Dad's footsteps." 

"I wasn't going to ask," Derek said. If that was what Stiles had read into Derek's silence, maybe Derek _should_ ask; it was obviously on Stiles' mind. 

"I know," Stiles said. "If you were going to ask, you would have done it by now. But you must have wondered. Every single person I know has asked me at some point."

That was true enough; Derek had wondered. "What did you tell them?"

"How many librarians it takes to screw in a light bulb," Stiles said. "But I'm kind of tired of that joke, so if you ask me, maybe I'll tell you something different." 

"Okay," Derek said. "Why didn't you—"

"Because I liked being research guy," Stiles said. He relaxed the moment he said it, releasing a tension Derek hadn't realized he was carrying in his shoulders. "I liked it."

That sounded like a good enough reason to Derek, but Stiles was frowning, fidgeting with the strap of his bag. 

"I used to help Dad solve cases sometimes," Stiles said. "Well, not _help_ so much as _interfere until he gave up_ , but that was his fault for bringing work home, anyway. I liked it, I liked piecing things together. But I never wanted to be the guy anyone waited up for at night, you know? The one in harm's way. I'm not that guy. Maybe I could be if I had to be, I don't know, but given the choice, I choose this."

He smiled at Derek, looking faintly surprised. "I, uh, I guess I've been thinking about this. Lately. It — sorry."

They hadn't even made it down the street before Stiles had gone off on his defensive career tangent. Derek didn't know what was going on to make Stiles dwell on this, but he did know what he could do about it. 

He pulled his sunglasses off again, pointing at the library doors. 

"Go," he said. "I don't care if you don't want to be heckled by Danielle again. Deal with it. We're going back inside, and you're going to show me around."

Stiles hesitated, but he looked pleased. 

"And then coffee, right," Stiles said. 

"Yes, fine, and then coffee," Derek said. 

When they walked past the circulation desk, Danielle just smirked at them. Stiles glared back. 

"Is there anyone in Beacon Hills you _didn't_ go to high school with?" Derek asked. 

"Lots of people," Stiles said. "But if we get to Starbucks before six, Greenberg will give me a discount, so let's make this quick." 

*

"Wait, wait," Stiles said, sagging back against a conveniently located tree. "Break. We're taking a break right here."

Derek shot him a bemused look. "We've only been walking for two hours."

"We've only been walking," Stiles repeated slowly, "for two hours." There was a look Derek got right before he said something snarky, and he was wearing it now. Stiles held up a hand. "Don't even, Derek."

Stiles liked the woods. He liked the woods in October, when the trees were pretty, and in April, when the weather was still cool. He wasn't such a fan at the beginning of August. It was all very scenic, but his T-shirt was stuck to his skin, and Derek goddamned Hale hadn't even broken a sweat. 

Derek handed him a water bottle. 

"What do you even do out here?" Stiles took a drink of water, waved an arm around, took another drink. "Just ... walk around?"

"It's called hiking," Derek said. "I thought you didn't hate and fear the outdoors." 

"I don't," Stiles said, though admittedly the evidence seemed to be against him at the moment. "Maybe the outdoors hates and fears _me_."

Derek snorted. 

"All right, so I'm not striking terror into the heart of much of anything, right now," Stiles said. 

"We can head back," Derek said graciously, making Stiles want to smack him. "Next time, we'll—"

"How much," Stiles gestured with the water bottle. "How much time do you anticipate us spending in the woods? In general?"

"How much time do you anticipate us spending in front of your Bluray player, in general?" Derek raised his eyebrows. 

"Oh my god, fine," Stiles said, lightly banging his head backward against the tree. "The last time I was out in the woods regularly was when I was a teenager and we snuck out here to drink. But if you want to hike, we'll hike."

"Good," Derek said. He took the water bottle, hooked it back onto his pack, and reached for Stiles' hand. 

Stiles suspected that Derek had figured out hand-holding won him arguments. He hoped Derek didn't think that would work when they inevitably had a real knock-down drag-out fight. 

"I'm on to you," Stiles said, but he let Derek take his hand anyway.

Derek smiled at him. That, now, _that_ was underhanded. 

"Stop trying to charm-hustle me, I already agreed to indulge your nature hobby," Stiles said. 

"I'm not," Derek said. Stiles was skeptical. "I'm not, Stiles."

"Oh," Stiles said, because _I wasn't sure you even knew how to smile like that_ would have been mean. Derek was _still_ smiling, fainter now but there. He looked ... happy.

Stiles leaned in to press a kiss to one corner of that smile. Derek turned his head to catch Stiles' mouth before he could retreat, angling into him and squeezing his hand. Message received: Derek _really_ liked the woods. All right, yes, they could spend as much time in the woods as Derek wanted, Stiles had no defense whatsoever against Derek smiling at him like that and meaning it. 

Derek stepped back, tugging on his hand. "Ready to go?"

"I guess hiking isn't so bad," Stiles said, and immediately had to let go of Derek's hand to flail an arm out and keep himself from tripping over a tree root. That did it; nature hated him. He was perfectly capable of walking in the woods without falling on his face, but the moment he wanted to do that in the company of the most attractive man he had or would ever venture into the woods with, bam: tree root. Unfair.

"We'll work on it," Derek said. 

*

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
Are you busy?

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
not really

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
you coming over?

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
Yes. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
k see you soon

Stiles answered the door, gave Derek a quick kiss, and walked past him, keys in hand. 

"Going to pick up food, back in ten," he called out. 

Derek went in and closed the door before the cat could escape. The cat was, predictably, sitting on the stairs, just waiting for an opportunity to make a jailbreak. 

"I can see you plotting, and I don't like it," Derek informed the cat. 

"Are you talking to the cat?" 

Derek swung around, startled. Scott was watching him from the living room couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table. 

He hadn't seen Scott since Erica's wedding. He hadn't seen any of Stiles' friends since Erica's wedding, Erica (and once, briefly, Boyd) excluded; Stiles hadn't asked, and Derek was fine with that. 

"Scott," Derek said.

"Derek," Scott said. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Derek heard the judgment in that. He breathed out through his nose, reminding himself that Stiles would be pissed if he came home and Derek had killed Scott. 

"No, I guess you haven't," Derek said, passing through into the kitchen. Stiles kept some of the juice Derek liked in his fridge, right next to the beer he'd never seen Stiles drink. Scott wasn't over all that often — mostly they seemed to hang out at Scott and Allison's — or Derek would've run into him before, but Stiles still stocked his beer. 

He sighed, grabbed a bottle, and handed it to Scott as he joined him in the living room, settling on the far end of the couch. 

Scott's gaze flicked from Derek to the bottle and back again. "Is this a peace offering?" 

For what? It was Derek trying to be nice, and failing, apparently. 

"I'm not dating you," Derek said flatly. "I'm not dating your entire codependent group. I'm only dating Stiles." 

"You've been dating Stiles for over a month," Scott said, sitting up and setting the bottle down with a loud _thunk_. "The only person who ever sees you is Erica, who—"

"Is my friend." Derek could say that with a reasonable degree of confidence. "The rest of you—"

"Could be your friends, if we ever saw you," Scott said, ridiculously earnest. 

Derek wanted to say, _Stiles hasn't asked me to see you_ , and leave it at that, but then Scott would just be annoyed with Stiles. 

"I'd like to date Stiles without being smothered by the rest of you," Derek said. 

"Hey, we aren't smothering!"

That was one of the more absurd statements Derek had ever heard. 

"None of you have any idea what it's like to date one of you from the outside, because none of you have ever had to do it," Derek said, trying for a reasonable tone. Nope; he still sounded impatient and irritated. "And, I'd like to point out, no one has ever _successfully_ done it, because your group hasn't expanded out _since high school_ , with the possible exception of my sister."

"Wow, you're _intimidated_ by us," Scott said, staring at him. "We aren't that bad, dude."

"I'm not — that's not what I said," Derek said, scowling. 

"Yeah it is." Scott picked up his beer, twisted off the cap, and settled back, entirely at ease again. "No one wants to scare you off." 

That was easy for Scott to say, because Scott wasn't the one who suddenly had more people in his life all at once than he'd had in a very long time. 

"Unless you hurt Stiles, and then we'll do a lot more than scare you off." Scott gave Derek a look that was probably supposed to be threatening. "I don't think anyone had said that to you yet."

Stiles' cat jumped up on the couch, perched on Derek's leg, and stuck her nose in his juice. 

"I'm not—" Derek pushed her head away from his glass. "Stop. I'm not—" He pushed her head away again. "I'm _not intimidated by you_."

"Yeah, well, I'm not intimidated by you, either," Scott said. "You're getting bullied by a cat right now." 

Derek set down his juice, picked up the cat, and leaned over to deposit her on Scott's lap. She fluffed up in outrage, hissed at Scott, and returned to Derek's lap like a furry boomerang.

"Oh, _I'm_ getting bullied by a cat?" Derek hadn't seen her hiss at anyone before.

"We don't get along," Scott said, eyeing the cat. "How about I turn the game back on and we don't talk about this anymore?"

"Fine," Derek said. 

"Cool," Scott said. 

The cat settled in on Derek's lap and dug her claws into his leg, staring fixedly at Scott. 

Derek felt a sudden kinship with the cat. He let her stay. 

*

"Spinach, onion, eggs," Stiles muttered to himself. And to Lydia, who had the misfortune of being on the phone with him while he made a grocery list on the back of an envelope. "Sorry, I'm listening."

"Were you," Lydia said. "And I was telling you about...?"

"M...ath," Stiles guessed. She sighed. "That professor you don't like who calls you 'sweetie'? The guy who keeps stealing all your dry erase markers? Okay, I was only kind of listening."

"I keep my markers in a locked drawer now," Lydia said. "What are you cooking?"

"Spinach pie," Stiles said. "This recipe sounds easy, but I'm pretty sure that if it sucks, Derek will lie and eat it anyway."

"You're making him dinner again?" Lydia sounded disgruntled. "Have you even seen his place yet?"

"Well," Stiles said, staring at his grocery list, "no. But—"

"I see," Lydia said.

That was all she said about it, but it nagged at him. They'd been dating for — what, a month and a half now, and all of their in-house activities had specifically been in _Stiles'_ house; he had no idea what Derek and Laura's house looked like. 

That hadn't bothered him before, when they'd been dating more or less in a vacuum, but now Derek and Scott had some kind of truce that Stiles didn't entirely understand involving his cat and the Dodgers. They'd watched three games together on Stiles' couch in the past two weeks. The vacuum seal was officially broken. 

Stiles had a feeling this wasn't so much about _him_ was it was about Derek not wanting to date with his sister as a nosy, quip-slinging chaperone, but it wasn't like Stiles hadn't been getting the nosiness and the quips from her at least once a week at Scott and Allison's. Maybe what they needed was just a dinner with Laura to break the ice. 

He meant to bring it up subtly when Derek came over that night, but subtlety not being his forte, he said: 

"Are you hiding bodies in your house?" 

Derek paused with a forkful of legitimately terrible spinach pie halfway to his mouth. "I assume you're going somewhere with this."

"I'd like to see your house," Stiles said. Easing into it had gone out the window with the crack about hiding bodies. "We could have dinner with Laura." 

"Come over tomorrow," Derek said. 

That — wow. Derek didn't pause for a second once he'd set his mind to something, did he. It definitely put the things he wasn't sure of into sharp contrast. 

"Tomorrow," Stiles said, making a _tomorrow_ gesture. "As in ... the day after today. Tomorrow."

"It's lasagna night," Derek said, like that had anything to do with anything. 

"I—" _know_. He did know. The scope of his mental library of mostly useless Derek trivia was frankly terrifying. "Yeah, okay." 

Derek pulled out his phone. It never got any less bizarre to watch Derek send a text, like the first three months turned inside out. 

"Laura wants to know if this is just an us-and-her thing, or if she can invite Allison," Derek reported. 

"She means Allison and Scott, right?" 

"She says Scott can come too," Derek said after a moment, amused. Stiles had a feeling that wasn't all Laura had said. "But that's it."

"So, Hales, McCalls, and me?" Stiles had dinner with Derek all the time, and it wasn't like he'd never met Laura before; he'd just seen her at Scott's last weekend. He wasn't opposed to making a dinner party of it. "Hold on, I'll check with them."

 ** _To: Scott_**  
do you and allison have plans for tmow night?

 ** _From: Scott_**  
we're almost to s2 of gilmore girls

 ** _To: Scott_**  
gilmore girls can wait, we're having dinner w laura and derek

 ** _From: Scott_**  
who is we?

 ** _To: Scott_**  
you me allison laura derek

 ** _From: Scott_**  
oh allison got a text from laura

 ** _From: Scott_**  
she says okay

"Scott and Allison say okay," Stiles said. 

"Laura told me." Derek pocketed his phone, picked up his fork, and went back to eating Stiles' awful food like nothing had ever happened. 

"No, no, wait, stop," Stiles said, grabbing Derek's plate and getting up to dump it in the sink. "Points for trying, but I can't watch this anymore."

"That's the worst spinach pie I've ever had," Derek said, relieved. "How did you make it tastelike that?"

"I have no idea," Stiles said. "But I appreciate that you ate it anyway. I'm definitely not kissing you goodnight after you were eating that, but I appreciate it just the same."

"I'm not seeing the benefit to me in this," Derek said. 

"The benefit is that now I order pizza, and I promise not to let you eat a failed cooking experiment again." He curled a hand around the back of Derek's neck. Derek looked up at him, unconvinced. "Back to pasta and takeout from now on, I swear."

"I can cook," Derek said. He could cook? He'd never mentioned that before. "You didn't ask."

Derek hadn't mentioned it, Stiles hadn't asked. That was the theme of the night, wasn't it, or maybe the theme of the past month and a half. 

"Okay, fine, then _you_ cook," Stiles said. 

"I have a great recipe for spinach pie," Derek said. 

Stiles eyed him. "I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not."

"Annoying, isn't it?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Stiles said. 

*

"Huh," Stiles said when Derek finished giving him the tour, such as it was. "No bodies."

"Told you that you needed to bring him over," Laura called out from the kitchen. "Even Matt the lizard guy had me over to his creepy lizard place sooner than this, which makes you officially the worst boyfriend ever."

"Really," Derek said dryly. "I'm a worse boyfriend than Matt the lizard guy. Didn't he break up with you in a Walmart?"

"Point taken," she said, poking her head into the dining room and grinning at him. "But is that truly a victory you want to savor? Stiles, can you set the table?"

"Sure," Stiles said. He sounded a little odd. "Point me at your plates, and I'll — are you my boyfriend?"

It took Derek a moment to realize Stiles was talking to him, and another moment to mentally rewind the conversation and figure out what Stiles had said. 

"Neeevermind," Laura said, disappearing back into the kitchen. 

Derek had just referred to himself as Stiles' boyfriend, hadn't he. They hadn't talked about that yet. Should they talk about it? Was it too soon? It didn't feel too soon. If it didn't feel too soon for _Derek_ , then probably it was safe to discuss, at least. 

"You look like a little kid who got caught sneaking a cookie," Stiles said. "You aren't in trouble, just answer the question."

"I think you're the only one who can answer that question," Derek said. Stiles, after all, was the one who had spent half of Erica's wedding making a face that Derek had figured out meant _someone just called Derek my boyfriend and I don't like it_. 

"Maybe I want to hear what you have to say on the matter." Stiles rolled his eyes. "Come on, Derek, this is the relationship conversation equivalent of 'I asked you first, no, I asked _you_ first.'"

 _Partner_ was too committed, and _lover_ wasn't a word Derek was ever going to say in front of Stiles' dad, so yes, he supposed Stiles was his boyfriend.

"Yes," Derek said. 

"And by that you mean yes, you're my boyfriend," Stiles said. 

"I said yes, Stiles—"

"And you're all right with that."

"Yes." He didn't see what the big deal was; they'd been dating for over a month and he'd been invested for longer than that, and relationship labels weren't ever going to be what kept him up at night. "But that doesn't mean — what are you doing?"

"Updating my Facebook status," Stiles said, not looking up from his phone. "Honestly, I just didn't want to be the one who said it first."

"You're welcome," Laura shouted.

"This conversation does not involve you," Derek shouted back. 

"Sibling love, that's nice," Stiles said. "Is anyone going to get the door, or...?"

"I've got it," Laura said, breezing through the room. The front door creaked open. "Oh, thank you, this pie looks great! Derek and Stiles are boyfriends now."

"I know, I just saw," Scott said. How was that even possible? Had he been checking Facebook and walking up to Derek's doorstep at the same time?

Derek's phone buzzed. 

**_From: Erica_**  
congrats on being fb official

 ** _From: Erica_**  
wait if only one of you is on fb is it still fb official?

 ** _From: Erica_**  
how do I even know stiles is in a relationship with YOU

 ** _From: Erica_**  
is stiles secretly dating on the side

Derek turned off his phone. 

"I hate the internet," he said. 

"You say that, but I think what you really mean is _I hate people knowing what I'm up to_ ," Stiles said. 

"Same thing," Derek said. 

Scott and Allison followed Laura into the dining room. Allison walked up to Derek and — and hugged him. She was hugging him now. He shot Stiles a baffled look over her shoulder, not sure if he was supposed to hug her back or what. Stiles pressed a fist to his mouth, not quite covering a hiccupping laugh. 

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just excited," Allison said, smiling at Derek before disappearing into the kitchen with Scott and Laura. 

"Oh, um, whoops," Stiles said, realization dawning. "I, uh, she's been trying to talk me into double dates or couples nights or whatever, and I kept putting her off by pointing out that you weren't even my boyfriend yet, so, I guess—"

"Couples nights," Derek repeated. That sounded like hell.

"I know, trust me, I know, but we might have to," Stiles said. 

Derek sighed. "Is there anything else I should know about that's been waiting on — on me being your boyfriend?"

"Lacrosse," Stiles said. That explained why Derek hadn't been forced into team sports yet. "Dinner with my dad." Derek had assumed that was waiting on _something_ , given that Stiles hadn't brought it up once. "Those repairs you promised Melissa, what else—" Stiles clued in to whatever look was on Derek's face and shook his head, patting Derek on the arm. "It's fine. I can buy you a couple more weeks on the other stuff, but Allison ... if you want to tell her no, _you_ do it, and good luck." 

The murmur of voices in the kitchen was broken by Laura's loud, ringing laugh.

Derek hoped they were making the right choices. They'd been on their own for longer than he liked to think about. Laura had relationships that came and went, and she collected acquaintances like stamps, and mostly, Derek only had Laura. And now—

Now, there was all of _this_. And the worst part was that Derek _wanted_ it, all of it, interfering friends and everything, and he knew Laura wanted it too. 

"We can do what Allison wants," Derek said.

"Aw, man, I was hoping you were going to say no," Stiles said. "Okay, fine, but if Allison's idea of couples bonding night turns out to be board games or something we are _bailing_ , you haven't seen me and Scott go at it over Risk but trust me, it gets ugly, and then there would be no more couples bonding, ever."

"And no Trivial Pursuit," Scott said, carrying in an armful of plates. "Stiles has a masters degree in cheating at Trivial Pursuit."

"It isn't _cheating_ ," Stiles said. "It would only be cheating if I used my research superpowers to look up the answers as we played. It isn't my fault there are huge gaps in your pop culture knowledge, come on."

"I'm not going to make anyone play board games," Allison called out from the kitchen, and then they were off and bickering, the three of them, and Laura was leaning into the doorway to shoot Derek a look that said all too clearly, _you did this to yourself_.

She was right, and he didn't care. 

He felt a faint stirring of unease, but he forced it back, refusing to examine it. 

*

"I'm not saying I like you _best_ with your shirt off," Stiles said, "because I get how that could give a guy a complex, but I've got to tell you, it works for me."

"Glad to hear it," Derek mumbled. He was sprawled out on his stomach with his head in Stiles' lap, half-awake at best. 

Stiles ran a hand over Derek's shoulders, tracing swirls of ink and the jut of bone. The first time Derek had taken his shirt off had been like Stiles' own personal half-naked miracle, and he wasn't over it yet. 

He wasn't over _any_ of it yet. How the hell had he gotten here? How the hell had _Derek_ gotten here? He'd seen how hard every step of this had been for Derek, and Derek kept trying anyway, and Stiles had no idea _why_. 

Not that Stiles wasn't great, but no one else had ever seen the appeal. No one else had ever wanted to work for it the way Derek seemed to. 

He bent to press a kiss to Derek's temple, fingers spreading out across the triskele tattoo. Stiles had done more research than he cared to admit on that symbol, and he still had no idea why Derek had chosen it. 

"You can ask me," Derek said, drowsy. "If you want."

"Okay." Stiles slid his hand up into Derek's hair, rubbing small circles into his scalp. "When you're actually awake, I will."

"I'm awake now," Derek said. Stiles didn't dignify that with a response. 

Within a minute, Derek was sound asleep. That was a first; what with the general lack of sex and Derek's evident need to be alert at all times, he'd never fallen asleep at Stiles' house before. It was possible CSI marathons worked as a sedative. 

The cat jumped up on the couch, curled up on Derek's back, and started cleaning her tail. Derek didn't so much as twitch. 

_Definitely_ a sedative. Stiles would have to remember this for later. 

*

Derek's first thought upon waking was, _oh, shit_. 

He couldn't figure out why, not at first. He was on Stiles' couch, face mashed into Stiles' thigh, and he felt almost boneless, completely relaxed for the first time in ages. There was an infomercial running forgotten in the background, the only source of light in the room, and under the sounds of someone hawking a useless kitchen appliance he could hear the steady rise and fall of Stiles' breathing. 

He was comfortable and happy and tired, still, and he didn't know why anxiety was pooling in his gut, dragging him further and further from sleep. 

Derek sat up slowly. Stiles was out cold, slumped over against the arm of the couch. He didn't wake when Derek moved, only curled in more, hands tucked under his arms. 

And then it hit Derek, the words forming in his head for the very first time: 

He was in love with Stiles. 

He wished that thought didn't make him feel seasick. 

This was what he'd wanted. This was what he'd been working toward, wasn't it, being _able_ to fall in love with Stiles, being able to _trust_ Stiles. Now that he was there, he didn't know which one scared him more, the love or the trust. 

He hadn't put that into words before, either. Somewhere along the line, he'd started trusting Stiles without acknowledging it to himself. It'd happened almost without him. Even now, with his pulse racing and his throat working, he couldn't convince himself that he shouldn't trust Stiles. He just did. 

The last person he'd loved and trusted had said to him on her way out, _you made it easy_. As much as he hated to give credit to anything that had ever come out of her mouth, maybe this was what she'd been talking about, right here. 

Derek knew Stiles was harmless, at least where Derek was concerned. He _knew_ that. His instincts told him, _Stiles would never hurt you, Stiles is safe_. 

Experience had taught him that his instincts were absolute shit. Experience was telling him, _there's a catch coming, just wait_. 

He knew there wasn't a catch coming, not like that, but he could feel himself bracing for it anyway. 

One day, she was going to stop fucking up his life without even being present in it, but he wasn't there yet. 

Derek let himself out without waking Stiles, desperately needing to be somewhere else. 

*

"What's up with you tonight?" Danny eyed Stiles, taking another drink of something bright blue. "You haven't said two words since you got here, are you sick?"

"Funny," Stiles said, leaning back against the bar. "It's nothing. I think it's nothing." 

"Uh-huh," Danny said. 

"It's just," Stiles said, turning toward him. Danny looked long-suffering, but gestured for him to continue. "Derek's been weird, the past couple of days. I think — okay, I don't think it's nothing, I think something is going on, but I don't know what."

"You could try asking him," Danny said, finishing the blue drink.

"I really like Derek—"

"You're going to have to stop saying _like_ eventually," Danny said. 

"I _really like_ Derek," Stiles repeated, insistent. He wasn't going to say anything more until he was sure Derek felt the same way. "And I don't want, I don't want to..."

"I thought you weren't going to do this anymore."

"Do _what_ anymore," Stiles said, even though he had a pretty good idea what Danny was getting at. It wasn't like he hadn't thought it already, himself. 

"You know what," Danny said. "If you think something is going on, ask him." 

"You say that like it's so easy," Stiles muttered. 

"It is," Danny said. 

Stiles should've had this talk with Allison. At least she would've pretended to be sympathetic to Stiles' inability to confront significant relationship problems. 

*

"Your house still looks like a wedding threw up all over it," Derek said. 

"Classy," Erica said. "I just got married, what did you expect?"

"Two months ago," Derek pointed out. He'd been over several times since then, and if anything, the amount of wedding debris seemed to be growing. 

"I'm in _wedding recovery mode_ ," Erica said. "I'm amazed I have the time and energy to deal with _you_ right now."

She put a cookie on the kitchen counter in front of him. As bribes went, that wasn't even slightly subtle. 

"I've been patient," Erica said. "Now I want details."

Derek frowned at her. "Details of what?"

"Oh, come on, let a girl live vicariously," Erica said, leaning back against the counter and pointing at the cookie until he ate it, reluctantly. "Is he a good kisser? In high school, I always thought he would be a good kisser."

"I'm not talking to you about — no." But now that she'd said it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd kissed Stiles. 

He'd been over at Stiles' house the night before. Had they not kissed at all?

Had Derek even _touched_ Stiles last night? He couldn't remember. He didn't think he had. 

Erica put another cookie in front of him. He picked it up and took a bite, too distracted to care about her low-grade system of bribery. 

"To be fair, in high school I thought he'd be good at _everything_ , because I had a massive crush on him," Erica said. "And look, now there's someone who can confirm or deny all that teenage speculation, so 'fess up."

"We haven't," Derek said without thinking. 

Erica gave him a shocked look and a beer. At least she'd moved on from cookies.

"Stiles is hot," Erica said, like this was a fact Derek might have somehow overlooked. 

"I'm aware." He was very, _very_ aware. He also didn't want to sleep with Stiles until he was sure he could do that without thinking of anyone else, without questioning Stiles' motivations on some level. Not that he'd said that to Stiles, but Stiles seemed fine with the pace they were at. 

"Just checking," she said. "All right, fine, no details. You disappoint me so much, I want you to know that." She eyed him critically. "What is that look on your face?"

"I don't have a _look_ ," Derek said. That was probably a lie. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure Stiles had noticed the not-touching thing. Stiles had been on edge all night, and Derek hadn't been able to figure out what was behind it. 

"Stop it, you're getting more pathetic as I watch," Erica said, handing him another cookie. "Why don't I put in The Lake House, and we can let other people emote for you."

"Fine," Derek sighed. If it meant she wasn't going to make him talk about it, then fine. 

"You are so well trained," Erica said. "I'm seriously in awe of your sister. Eat your cookie." 

*

Stiles put the takeout Derek had brought on the counter and left it there, sitting at the table and nervously clasping his hands. 

"Sit," he said, nodding at Derek's usual chair. 

Derek was instantly wary, his expression smoothing out into nothing as he sat. 

"Something is going on." There, Stiles had said it. Danny was wrong; it had been _hard_. "If I did something wrong — I don't think I did, I don't know what I could have done, but if I did something wrong, I need to know."

"You didn't do anything wrong." Derek swallowed hard and looked away. Stiles could almost feel him coming to some kind of decision, and he was holding his breath, waiting for it. 

"Maybe this was a mistake," Derek said, standing abruptly. 

"Whoa, no, stop, what are you doing," Stiles said shooting up off his chair. 

"Going home," Derek said. 

"You—" Stiles stared at him. "You're really just going to walk out? You aren't even going to _try_ to talk to me about whatever is going on with you?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Derek snapped back. 

Stiles got that. He had reams of stuff he didn't want to talk about, either. But they'd been dating for two months, and he knew as much — or more to the point, as little — about Derek's history as he had when they'd been text-only. 

"That isn't going to work forever," Stiles said, trying to hold on to his patience. "It isn't working _now_. If you walk out every time there's something we need to discuss, this isn't going to go anywhere." Derek didn't say anything. He didn't even blink. God, Stiles was tired of this, of not asking and not talking and not _knowing_. "If that's how it's going to be, then yeah, maybe this—" He spread his arms out on _this_ , encompassing everything. "Maybe it was a mistake." 

Derek turned his head to the side, glaring at the floor. He didn't walk out and slam the door behind him, which was honestly more than Stiles had expected. 

"You have to give me something," Stiles said. " _Anything_ , come on, I'm not going to be the only one giving anything, that isn't going to happen." 

"Maybe I don't have anything to give you," Derek said, voice flat. 

Stiles nodded jerkily, his eyes burning. He didn't believe that, he knew better, but that didn't stop him from sounding furious when he said, "so you're telling me, what, all this time you've been faking it? Is that what you want me to believe?" 

" _No_ ," Derek said, lurching forward. "I would never do that, I wouldn't lie to you." 

He sounded so upset that Stiles almost felt bad for him. No, he did, he felt bad, but that didn't mean he was going to back off. 

"Okay," Stiles said. "Okay. Then—"

"Of course I care about you," Derek said. "That isn't what I meant. I wouldn't lead you on."

"All right," Stiles said, sighing. He sat back down at the table and slumped back, folding his arms. Derek sat after a moment, face so blank that Stiles knew he had to be miserably unhappy underneath. "So tell me what's going on."

Derek braced his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. Stiles waited, his right leg bouncing, jittery. 

"I was with someone last year," Derek said. So this was about his ex, the one Stiles knew next to nothing about. "I thought I was in love with her." 

Stiles waited for him to go on, then ventured: "but you weren't?"

"There wasn't anyone to love," Derek said. "The person she pretended to be wasn't real. She was a con artist, all she wanted was — my parents' money, the money they left us." He exhaled slowly. "She had me completely fooled. I believed every word she said. I—" He shook his head. "I was stupid. I trusted her, and I didn't know anything about her that wasn't a lie. And for a while after, everything sounded like a lie. Everything. I didn't trust anyone." _Except Laura_. Derek didn't even have to say it. 

"But now...?" That was a safer response than _holy crap_. 

"But now I trust you," Derek said.

"And that's freaking you out," Stiles filled in. 

"I've been trying to do this right." Derek hunched his shoulders. "I've been trying to take it as slow as we can, so that I would be _able_ to trust you, because I can't — I can't do that again. I was sure I was in love with her. I'd never been so sure about anything, or felt that way about anyone. And I was wrong, about all of it." 

Stiles had no idea what to say to that. None whatsoever. He couldn't just say, _it's safe to trust me, I'm in this for real_. He'd made that as clear as he could already, and either Derek was going to believe it, or he wasn't. 

"So you have some trust issues," was all he could come up with. 

Derek was startled into a laugh. It wasn't funny, and Derek didn't look like he thought it was funny either, but he laughed. 

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, Stiles, I have some trust issues."

Stiles waited again, until he was sure that was all Derek had to say on the subject.

"I have issues too. Not like that, but I — I was in love with someone. In college. Her name was Sarah." Stiles took a deep breath. "She wasn't awful or anything, she was great, but she wasn't in love with me. I was in love with her, though, a lot, so I stayed anyway, for over a year, even though we didn't want any of the same things or even _like_ any of the same things." Nobody could do willfully blind like he could. "I don't know, I guess I thought someday she was going to change her mind, and everything would be great. Just like — just like I did with Lydia."

Derek had lowered his hands, and he was watching Stiles, his mouth set in a thin line. 

"I have this pattern," Stiles said, picking at a thread on his jeans. "Of caring about people who don't care about me the same way."

"I care about you," Derek said again. 

"I believe you," Stiles said. "I do. I'm just telling you, no matter how much I believe you, sometimes I look at you and wonder what the hell you're doing here." 

"What _I'm_ —" Derek sat back, gesturing at Stiles. "I know what I'm doing here. I have no idea what's in this for _you_."

Stiles had to smile at that. 

"I'm going to sign us up for one of those self-esteem retreats where we sit in a circle and give ourselves positive reinforcement," he said. 

"I'm being serious," Derek said. 

"So am I. I'm going to pick up some brochures." Stiles lurched across the table to grab a handful of Derek's shirt and keep him from standing again. Derek looked down at Stiles' hand on his shirt, back up at Stiles, and raised his eyebrows: _are you kidding me with this?_ "Sorry." Stiles let him go, raising his hands defensively. "I have a joke reflex, it's terrible."

"I know," Derek said. "Now isn't the time."

"You put up with me telling you every thought that goes through my head, and I think you might even like it," Stiles said all in a rush, speaking so fast he could barely understand himself. "You try really hard even when you have no idea what you're doing, and no one has ever looked at me the way you do, so that's, that's what in this for me. Not just that, but that's — let's call it a representative sample."

Derek stared at Stiles, silent. One corner of his mouth rose and fell, and lifted again, staying this time. 

"Now is the part where you give me a little back," Stiles said, gesturing between them. 

"I do like that you never shut up," Derek said. 

"Oh, come on," Stiles protested. "Now _I'm_ being serious."

"I am too," Derek said. 

"Yeah, no. Your homework for tonight is to make a list: Things That Are Awesome About Stiles. Bring it with you next time."

Derek rolled his eyes. That was better than the painfully defensive look he'd had earlier, at least. 

"Congratulations," Stiles said. "I think we just had our first real fight. And we didn't even break anything! Go us. That said, I'm packing up Mom's china tomorrow and putting it into storage, why take the risk."

"I like it when you argue with me," Derek said. "Not — not like this, but I like it when we argue. It means you aren't only telling me what I want to hear." 

"Good news, then," Stiles said, wanting to smack himself for not pushing the issue sooner, asking sooner. Too many things were coming into focus all at once. "I can pretty much guarantee we will never, ever run out of things to argue about."

"I know," Derek said. 

They sat there in silence for a minute.

"Come on." Stiles stood and grabbed the bags of takeout. "We can eat on the couch and watch the first half hour of Wall-E." That was as close as he was going to get tonight to saying, _sorry I pushed your fake relationship button without realizing it and then made jokes_. 

Derek fell asleep on the couch again. When Stiles came downstairs in the morning, Derek was still there, which was a marked improvement from last time. 

"Hey," Stiles said, brushing a hand over Derek's shoulder, trying to wake him gently. Derek stirred slowly, cracking an eye open to peer up at him. "I'm heading out to work, but you can stay as long as you want, you know where the extra keys are." 

Derek nodded and rubbed his eyes, turning his head in against the cushion in an attempt to hide a yawn. 

Oh, man. Early morning Derek was too much for Stiles to deal with. 

Sooner or later, Stiles was going to get to wake up to that all the time, and then tardiness was going to become a real issue. 

Maybe he should warn Danielle now. 

*

"I need your help with something," Derek said. 

Laura looked up from her tablet, a piece of toast sticking out of her mouth. She was only half-awake, the coffee still brewing on the counter; possibly he should've waited a couple minutes before springing that on her. 

"Do you," she said around her toast, and then pushed the rest of into her mouth and chewed slowly, deliberately, eyeing Derek.

"Yes," he said. 

"Interesting," she said. 

"Stiles and I had a fight," Derek said. Laura raised her eyebrows and made a _keep going_ gesture, getting up to pour the coffee. "It could have been worse." 

"Uh-huh." She set a mug of coffee on the table in front of him. "Is that what you need my help with, an apology?"

"No," he said. Should he apologize? Stiles hadn't seemed to want an apology. 

"If you say so," she said, dropping onto her chair with a sigh and pushing her tablet away. "Are you going to tell me what the fight was about?"

"Things were going well," Derek said. He glared at the table, frustrated with himself, with everything. That summed it up, didn't it? They'd had a fight because Derek couldn't accept that things were going well. 

He thought he could accept it now. The difference it made just to have talked to Stiles was huge; he wished he'd done it weeks ago, instead of waiting for Stiles to back him into a corner.

"I've been watching you wait for the other shoe to drop for almost a week now," Laura said. 

"So has Stiles," Derek said. 

"I assume that since you aren't looking grimmer than usual, the fight was resolved," Laura said, all but inhaling her coffee. "Did you tell him about—"

"Yes." He almost hadn't; he'd almost walked out. He wasn't going to think about that.

"Huh." She picked at her second piece of toast, contemplative. "I was starting to wonder if that was ever going to happen. Did Stiles beat it out of you?"

"Yes," Derek said again, and shook his head. "And no. I should have told him a while ago."

"It's not something you can just drop into conversation," Laura said, gesturing with her toast. "'Oh, and by the way, the last person I was in a relationship with was a horrible, manipulative criminal who tried to con me out of all my money.' I wish you'd give yourself a break." 

"I've had plenty of breaks," Derek muttered. He'd had more than he deserved. 

"You really haven't," Laura said. She nudged his foot under the table. "Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you, asshole." He glared at her. "You deserve a break. I know you aren't going to give yourself one, ever, so I've been hoping Stiles would just—" She sighed. "Give you one whether you liked it or not. He's..." 

"Hard to say no to," Derek filled in.

"That's precious," Laura said. "I was going to say 'sweet,' but I like yours better."

"I have no idea what I'm doing," he said, almost before she'd finished speaking. He hadn't known he was going to speak until the words were already out, and he already wanted to take it back.

She took a huge bite of her toast, as blatant a stalling tactic as he'd ever seen.

"That's never stopped you before," she said. 

"That's sort of what Stiles said." Stiles had said it like it was a good thing, which Derek didn't understand.

"I approve of Stiles," Laura said around a mouthful of toast. "What do you need my help with?" 

"I need some pictures," he said.

"Well, you've come to the right place." She pointed at her empty mug. "Refill me, and I'll see what I can do." 

*

Stiles was watching Gilmore Girls. He wasn't sure he liked Gilmore Girls, but Scott and Allison had decided they loved it, so there he was, home alone with his cat on a Friday evening, slowly beginning to suspect that in the Stars Hollow of his life, he was the Kirk. 

At least he hadn't named his cat Cat Stiles. He hadn't named his cat anything, but that was probably better than naming his cat after himself, right? Wasn't it? He hadn't wanted to give his cat a name it would resent later in life, that was a perfectly good reason not to name your cat. And if it wasn't, at least he was getting it out of his system now, before kids entered the picture. 

There was a knock at the door. Thank god. He needed to stop watching this show. 

Stiles was surprised to find Derek on his porch. Derek didn't usually drop by unannounced; he'd been expecting his dad or Melissa. 

"I just came by to give you something," Derek said, before Stiles could invite him in. Stiles stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind him to keep the cat in. 

Derek handed him an envelope, sealed shut. It felt heavier than paper. Pictures? It felt like pictures. 

"Are these wedding photos?" He started to tear the envelope open across the top. Derek grabbed his hand, stilling his fingers. 

"Open it later." Derek squeezed his hand lightly and let go. "They're just — homework." 

Stiles stared at Derek, his chest aching. He hadn't been serious. He hadn't thought Derek would take him seriously. 

"I'm not faking anything," Derek said. "I need you to know that."

"I didn't mean that," Stiles said. "I'm—"

"I love you," Derek said easily, so much easier than the effort it had taken him to say, _I trust you_. 

Stiles had the strange sensation of being hot and numb at the same time, like an out of body experience in a sunbeam. 

"Okay," he said, drawing a complete blank on ... words. 

"And I'd like to stay over tonight," that was the dirty sex voice, Derek was talking about sex, Stiles was two seconds away from dragging him into the house by his collar, "but I have a client meeting in half an hour and a wedding in the morning. So, maybe Sunday—"

"Just, just hold on," Stiles said. By his count,

1) Derek was in love with him,  
2) Derek was ready to have sex with him, and  
3) Derek was now attempting to schedule sex with him.

It was a lot to take in. 

"I'm free Sunday," Stiles said. He even managed to say it casually, thanks to the floaty sunbeam feeling that hadn't gone away yet. "For sex. A lot of it. A lot of it, right? Because I have to tell you, in the fantasy sex life we've been having in my head for the past five months—"

They'd never kissed like this before, like it was going somewhere. This wasn't goodnight or hello or any of the ways kissing had become conversational over the past two months (sorry about my sister, thanks for taking out the trash). If there was a message in this, it was to hell with Derek's meeting and Stiles' neighbors, the front porch is a _great_ place to have sex for the first time. 

"We're outside, why are we always outside," Stiles gasped, tilting his head back against the door. Derek nosed down the line of his neck, pushing aside the already stretched-out collars of Stiles' shirts to close his mouth over the curve of neck and shoulder, teeth grazing the skin. "I, _god_ , Derek, I thought you had a meeting, I'm all for taking this inside but, you said—"

"I do, I have to," Derek pressed his forehead to Stiles' shoulder, making a highly frustrated sound. "I — dammit."

Derek kissed him quickly, once, twice, and left. 

That had all happened incredibly fast. Stiles would've considered the possibility of the whole thing being a bizarrely fulfilling hallucination, but he was still clutching the unopened envelope of Things That Are Awesome About Stiles pictures. 

He took the envelope into the kitchen, tearing it open and tipping its contents out onto the table. There were about a dozen pictures total, from both weddings, and he was in all of them: talking to Danny, his mouth open, mid-sentence; dancing with Erica; sitting with Lydia; standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Scott, both of them tremendously bored. 

There was a picture from the moment he and Laura had met, of him clutching a pot of fake vines. He'd hoped she'd deleted those. 

Some of these pictures weren't all that remarkable. Some of them weren't even good shots, images of him in blurred motion. They were just ... Stiles being Stiles. 

He picked up his phone and dialed without looking, biting the inside of his cheek. 

"Hey," Scott said. 

"Derek is in love with me," Stiles blurted out. 

There was a pause on the line. 

"I really hope you aren't just now figuring this out," Scott said finally. 

"He told me," Stiles said. "And he did _homework_."

"He did? Wait, what homework?"

"And I'm in love with him—"

"Yeah, Stiles, we all—"

"So next week we're going to introduce him to lacrosse," which he was going to hate, probably, but he might at least pretend to like it in that horribly unconvincing way he had, god, he'd even eaten that awful spinach pie, he was _totally in love with Stiles_. 

Scott was laughing at him. 

Stiles hung up on him. It was fine, he was going to see Scott in the morning, he could tell him all about it then. At length. In detail. He would—

Wait, wait, _shit_. What was it Stiles had said instead of _I love you too?_ He couldn't remember. Had he said — had he actually said _okay?_ Oh, man. He _sucked_ at this. 

No. It was fine. He'd have plenty of opportunity to tell Derek on Sunday, because he had a sex date with Derek on Sunday. 

Tomorrow was going to crawl by, wasn't it. 


	5. Mutual Acquaintances

Derek stopped at the diner for pie on the way home from his meeting. It was possible he was hooked on diner pie; Hailey had a slice boxed and rung up for him before he made it from the door to the counter. 

He paid and grabbed the bag off the counter, turning to go. 

Allison was there. She was sitting in a booth with an older man and a blonde who had her back to Derek. Allison and the man sitting next to her were in identical arms-folded poses, silently furious. 

Derek tried to escape before Allison spotted him, but he wasn't fast enough. She shook her head quickly, _don't come over_ , as though he would have, even if she'd been routinely cheerful.

The other two in the booth had noticed, and the blonde was turning to see. 

Derek went cold. 

What the was Kate doing with Allison?

Kate's eyes widened with recognition. She grinned at him like she was delighted to see him. What the hell was that about? Did she think she was going to use him to play them?

"Aren't you going to say hi?" Kate called out. 

Derek should have left. He wanted to leave. Anything she said was going to be designed to hurt or manipulate him. There was no way talking to her was going to end well for him.

He didn't know how Allison knew her, and if Kate was trying to scam them — he wasn't going to let her hurt Allison.

He made himself move closer to the booth, pulling out his phone. 

"I'm calling the cops," Derek said. 

"And telling them what, your ex is in town and you don't like it? Please," Kate said, sipping her coffee, pointedly unconcerned. 

" _Ex?_ " Allison's eyes were huge. 

"If I tell Sheriff Stilinski that my ex is in town and she's trying to con people again, I'm sure he'll find something to arrest you for," Derek said. He wasn't at all sure, but he could at least bluff it out. Stiles had programmed his dad's number into Derek's phone; he pulled up the contact and turned his phone around for Kate to see, obscuring the number with his thumb. "I know him. Allison knows him. Do you want to bet he _wouldn't_ do us a favor?"

The man next to Allison was amused now. "A night in jail might be good for you. Maybe you'll make some new friends." 

"Please don't call the sheriff," Allison said, putting a hand on Derek's arm. "I don't want her here any longer than she has to be."

Kate eyed Allison's hand on Derek's arm. 

"Oh, honey, I think he's a little too damaged for you," Kate said. "Didn't you just get married? Is the spark gone already?" 

Allison jerked her hand away. 

"Derek and I are _friends_ ," Allison said tightly, glaring at Kate. "I'm—"

"Stop," Derek said. "She's fishing for information she can use, don't give it to her."

Kate tilted her head, looking him over. 

"You're a lot more fun now than you used to be," she said. 

"Don't," the man said warningly, trying to intervene.

Kate ignored him. "You were so sweet and credulous last year, what happened?" _You did_ , he didn't say, not that _sweet and credulous_ could ever have described him. She knew the answer anyway. "Oh." She clucked her tongue. "Looks like I made some improvements. I like the whole angry looming thing you're working now, it's hot."

"We're done here," the man said, throwing a twenty on the table. Allison slid out of the booth and he followed, leaning over Kate. "You aren't welcome in Beacon Hills. Leave my daughter alone."

"Or what?" Kate smirked at him. "Allison can make her own choices."

"Then _leave me the hell alone_ ," Allison said. She put her hand on Derek's arm again. "Leave my friends alone, too."

"The angry mama bear routine is misplaced with that one," Kate said, gaze flicking to Derek and back to Allison. "He deserved it." 

Derek froze. Allison's hand tightened over his arm. 

"Allison, we're leaving," her dad said, giving Derek a look that made it clear that included him, too. But Kate was staring at him now, her mouth twisted up, smug; she knew she had him. 

"Come on, Derek," Kate said, sliding closer. "I would have been doing you a favor. Tell me you wouldn't have slept a little sounder at night, sweetie. Go on, I'll know if you're lying."

Derek couldn't say anything at all. Allison pulled on his arm, all but dragging him out of the diner. 

He didn't realize Allison and her dad were trying to talk to him until Allison took his keys from his hand by force. 

"I'm not letting you drive like this," she said. He wanted to object, but his hands were shaking and everything felt two steps removed from reality; driving wouldn't be the best idea he'd ever had. 

"We need to talk," Allison's dad said. 

"Not now," Allison said, leading Derek away from him, conversation over. He'd never seen her like this before, calm and pissed off at the same time. If he'd had the presence of mind to register it, he might've been impressed. 

It took her a while to adjust the driver's seat, but once she was ready to go, she wasted no time in putting a lot of space between the car and the diner at a speed Stiles' dad would almost definitely object to. 

"Home or Stiles'?" She glanced at him quickly. "Derek? Where do you want me to drive you?"

Not Stiles' house. They'd left things on such a good note, he didn't want this to be what ruined it. He didn't want to go home and have to tell Laura, _oh, by the way, Kate is back in town_ , either. 

"Neither," he said. "Turn here." 

Allison pulled up in front of the house Derek was working on. She turned the engine off. 

They sat there in silence, Allison's hands clenched around the steering wheel, Derek staring out the passenger side window. 

"She's my aunt," Allison said. 

"She wasn't at your wedding." Derek definitely would have noticed her there.

"I haven't seen her since — we aren't close." 

"She was in town last summer," Derek said. 

"Trying to get money from my dad," Allison said. "He didn't give it to her."

"She tried to get it from somewhere else."

Allison made a quiet, frustrated sound. "You shouldn't listen to her. What she said—"

"I know," Derek said. He did know, he'd learned it the hard way. He wasn't sure _knowing_ was going to make the slightest difference. 

He only had one question. 

"Is her name actually — what is her name?"

"Kate," Allison said, surprising him.

"Kate Kelly?"

"Kate Argent." Allison gave an angry snort. "Did she really tell you her name was Kate Kelly? I had a friend named Kate Kelly in seventh grade, I wonder if that's where she got it from." 

There was a part of him that wanted to be angry at Allison simply for being related to Kate, but he couldn't stop replaying the way she'd said, _leave my friends alone_. She hadn't said that for Stiles' benefit. He thought she'd meant it. 

"You can drive the car home." He took his keys, pulled off the car key, and handed it back to her. "I'll pick it up tomorrow."

"All right." Allison peered at the house through the windshield. "You're sure this is where you want to go?"

"Yes." He climbed out of the car, hesitating only a moment before he added, "thank you."

He didn't realize until he was inside the house that he was still holding the bag of pie from the diner. 

He wasn't sure why that made him laugh, but it did. 

*

Allison was calling him. That was weird, Allison never called him. 

"Hey," Stiles said, trying to sound casual and not at all, _is something wrong with Scott? Did something happen? Tell me what happened_. 

"I don't know if I should be telling you this," Allison said, that didn't sound good, Stiles' heart was beating faster already. "But I'm sitting in Derek's car outside — outside his house, I guess, the one he's fixing up. He had me drop him off here. I don't think he wanted to see you, but I'm worried about him."

Stiles was up and moving, shoving his feet into his shoes and wrestling on a hoodie. Keys, where were his keys? Why hadn't he just left them by the door for once? 

"What happened, why do you have Derek's car?" 

"He ran into my aunt," Allison said. 

Her aunt, what, her aunt Kate? What did that have to do with anything? Stiles hadn't seen Kate Argent since he was sixteen. Allison tended to call her _my crazy con artist aunt Kate_ , when she came up at all. 

Stiles stopped dead in the front hallway, his hand on the doorknob.

"Oh," he said blankly, searching for a reaction to have, something, anything. Tiny little world, wasn't it? He'd had a hate-on for Derek's anonymous ex for months, before he'd even known any of the details, and she was _Kate fucking Argent_. 

"You know, then," Allison said, relieved. 

"Tell me where you are," Stiles said. She gave him directions, and he hung up, phone already forgotten in his hand. 

He remembered Kate being around a lot right after Victoria Argent's funeral. She'd seemed ... nice. Aggressively nice. Something about her had pinged his radar, and he hadn't known what it was until after she'd managed to swindle Chris Argent out of more money than Stiles' dad made in a year. 

_All she wanted was my parents' money_ , Derek had said. Was this what she did, preying on people who'd lost family members? Stiles had known Kate was an awful person; he hadn't realized she was actually the worst person he'd ever met, hands down. 

Allison was still parked out front when he got to the house. She rolled down the window as he approached, giving him a wan smile. 

"I didn't want to leave until you got here," she said. 

Stiles ducked down and gave her an awkwardly squished one-armed hug through the window. 

"You're my favorite," he said. 

"I'm going to tell Scott you said that." 

"McCalls are my favorites." He gave her a kiss on the cheek before extricating himself from the car window.

She drove off, leaving him to wrestle with indecision all by himself. 

Stiles didn't know if he should go in or not. Derek had never taken him here before. Derek barely even talked about the house, except in the broadest of terms: this is where I am right now, this is where I'll be in the afternoon. Stiles wasn't sure he was allowed in there; he wasn't sure _Laura_ was allowed in there, he'd never heard any reference to her setting foot in the place. 

He could sit in his car for a while and lurk outside, because that wasn't creepy at all. He could take his chances and knock on the door. Or, maybe...

 ** _To: Derek_**  
can I come in?

No response. Stiles sat back against the hood of his car, tapping his phone against his mouth. 

The front door swung open, Derek silhouetted in dim light. Stiles approached cautiously, trying to assess the situation. Derek was perfectly blank, giving him nothing. 

"Allison called me," Stiles said, stopping before the steps up to the door. "She was worried."

"I didn't want to see you," Derek said bluntly. 

"Okay." Stiles took an automatic step back. "I'll go, then, I just wanted to check—"

"Don't." Derek shook his head. "Don't leave."

Stiles decided to interpret that as an invitation into the house. He waited until Derek closed the door behind him, and then he pulled Derek into a hug. 

Derek sank into it, wrapping his arms around Stiles almost too tightly, face pressed to Stiles' shoulder. 

"I love you," Stiles said, because to hell with romantic set-ups, he had a feeling Derek needed to hear it right now. 

Derek just nodded slightly against his shoulder, not letting go. 

Stiles didn't say, _I love you, and I will kick Kate Argent's ass all over Beacon Hills,_ but the thought was there. 

*

Derek watched Stiles trail his fingers over a crack in the plaster, his fingertips catching on a section of wallpaper Derek hadn't steamed off yet. 

"This isn't so bad," Derek said, seeing Stiles' skepticism. "Structurally sound. I already had a new roof put on. Floors are solid."

Stiles' gaze flew down to the floorboards, wary. "Have you rehabbed houses where the floors _weren't_ solid?"

"Yes," Derek said. He'd gone through an attic floor once, but that wasn't a story Stiles needed to hear. 

That obviously hadn't been the answer Stiles had wanted. It wasn't as though Derek made a regular habit of working on houses with bad floors; it'd only been the once, and only over the one bedroom. 

"I know it doesn't look like much right now," Derek said, his gaze slowly traveling the room, trying to see it as Stiles had to be seeing it. The front rooms were stripped down, walls waiting on plaster, doorframes waiting on fresh varnish. He hadn't sanded the floors yet, and they were in bad shape, hospital-worthy splinters waiting to happen. "But it did once, and it will again."

Stiles nodded, dropping his hand from the wall. "Will you live here when it's done?"

"No," Derek said. "This isn't my house, it's just — a house. I want to put it back to the way it should be, but I don't want to live in it."

"Why not?" 

"Because it isn't—" Derek's mouth turned up in a small, humorless smile. He knew where this conversation was headed; he'd known the moment Stiles had texted him. "It won't ever be what I'm looking for. None of them are."

"How many times have you done this?" Stiles looked around again, searching for clues, maybe. He was always looking for clues. 

"Three times," Derek said. "This is the third."

"So you fix them, sell them, and move on," Stiles said. 

"Yes," Derek said. He felt like he was breathing in molasses, the air heavy and slow, lungs struggling to expand. 

"What are you looking for?" Stiles waved a hand at the room. "What are you looking for that this place doesn't have?" 

"The house Laura and I grew up in burned down when I was fifteen," Derek said. "Electrical fire."

Stiles stared at him, mouth opening and closing again. Derek breathed easier this time, and easier still the next. 

"I don't know if the structure could have been saved, if there was anything worth saving." His looked around again, seeing his family's house as he'd seen it last, black scorch marks half-hidden under gray ash. "I went back six years later and it was gone. Laura sold the property as soon as she could, and the new owners pushed the house down and built again. And I—"

He made a slight gesture with his fingers, one arm wrapped tightly around his middle. 

"It's never going to be what I want," he said. "But I like the work. It helps."

"Home repair therapy." Stiles nodded quickly. "Sure, that — that makes sense. Is that, um." He stopped for a moment, visibly at a loss. "Is that why you came here? Tonight?"

"Upstairs rooms are ready to paint," Derek said. There was no way he was going to sleep tonight, not with Kate's voice in his head on a loop: _He deserved it. I would have been doing you a favor_. It had been instinctive to come here. 

"Can I help?" Stiles asked hesitantly. "Or is this something you need to do by yourself?"

Derek wasn't sure. He'd never been in the position of having someone ask him that before; Laura wanted nothing to do with it, and he'd bought this place after Kate. 

"Another time," he said. If Stiles wanted to come out here, Derek didn't think he would mind, so long as it was an occasional thing, not all the time. "Now that you're here, I think I'd rather go home with you." 

"Okay," Stiles said, surprised. "Yeah, we can do that." 

Derek grabbed the bag of pie off the floor on the way out. 

*

By the time they got back to Stiles' house, Derek looked exhausted. He glanced through the doorway into the living room, eyeing the couch. 

"No," Stiles said before the thought fully processed. "I mean — you can if you want to, but — I have a perfectly good bed. Granted, it's not the largest bed in the world, but we can definitely both sleep in it. All three of us, because if you're there, the cat will be there. I'm not sure she has any idea whose cat she is, anymore."

"All right," Derek said, not commenting on how he'd shamelessly co-opted the love of Stiles' cat. He went into the kitchen for a minute, and when he came back the cat was following along behind, proving Stiles' point. 

Stiles led him upstairs and waved a hand at his bedroom door, ducking into the bathroom. It hadn't sunk in until they were walking upstairs together that Derek was about to be _in his bed_. To sleep, just to sleep, and frankly he'd be surprised if Derek accomplished that much, but — in his bed. He hadn't anticipated this moment of whoa for another thirty-six hours or so, he wasn't prepared. 

He stalled for as long as he could, dug out a dentist freebie toothbrush and left it on the sink for Derek, and took a deep breath, wiping his clammy hands against his hoodie. If he freaked out every time they hit some kind of relationship milestone, it was going to be a long few — ever.

Weekend. It was going to be a long, _long_ weekend. So he wasn't going to freak out about this, because it was just Derek and his bed and sleep, and he liked all of those things. 

Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, slumped forward. He'd got as far as taking his shirt off and stalled out. He was twisting his shirt in his hands, covering his uncertainty with something that could almost be mistaken for stoicism. 

"I don't have anything that'll fit you," Stiles said. "That's the only reason I'm hoping you don't sleep in very much clothing, I swear."

Derek made a noise that could've been a laugh or a sigh, Stiles wasn't sure. 

"I don't," he said. 

"Awesome," Stiles said. "Because of the — not fitting thing." 

He turned his back to Derek, quickly stripping down to his boxers. It wasn't like Derek hadn't seen him with his shirt off before — August had been _hot_ — so if nothing else, Derek knew what he was getting. 

"I left you a, oh, okay," Stiles said, blinking. Derek was a boxer-briefs guy, it turned out, and he was stretched out on the far side of Stiles' bed, one arm tucked under his head. That was a _come get it_ pose if Stiles had ever seen one, and Derek wasn't even doing it on purpose, god. "Yeah, that's good, because I — I sleep on this side, it, um — you're on the cat's side, I guess, you can wrestle her for it, but she's scrappy, so—"

"Stiles." Derek looked faintly amused. "Come to bed."

"Absolutely," Stiles said. He crawled into bed with Derek without a second thought. 

Derek gave him a long, considering look, then rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. He reached back for Stiles' arm, pulling it over his waist. Stiles slid forward until he was pressed against Derek's back, Derek's arm overlapping his. 

"Go to sleep," Derek said. 

Stiles wasn't the least bit surprised that Derek wanted to be the little spoon. He'd worn out all his _Derek likes to cuddle_ shock in the first two weeks, and if anyone needed their own personal Stiles blanket tonight, Derek did.

"You too," Stiles said. 

"That's unlikely," Derek said. 

He was asleep before Stiles. 

Stiles lay awake for hours, his mind going in circles, spinning too fast to settle. 

Thank god Derek had told him about Kate before she'd shown up. They'd just barely missed all of this being a lot worse than it already was. Just _barely_. Stiles had gotten less than a day to process the fact that Derek was even more messed up than Stiles had realized, and now there was _Kate_ , and — and Derek's _family_ , Stiles had no doubt the fire Derek had talked about was what had happened to them, it fit with everything he already knew. 

He had no idea what to do with any of it, except give his dad the biggest hug he could, tomorrow. That had been his second reaction to Derek saying, too calmly, _the house we grew up in burned down_. First, _I need to hug Derek_ ; second, _I need to hug Dad_. Laura, too. Stiles' new ambition was to become a full-time hug machine. 

At no point had his reaction been, _this is too much for me_. That was ... reassuring, sort of. He was more than a little bit scared that he was going to do or say something horribly wrong, but he was all right with being scared. He wasn't going to run.

Derek hadn't seemed to expect him to run, either. That more than anything else told him that Derek had meant it about trusting him. 

He thought Derek might be trusting people more than he gave himself credit for, these days. He'd sent Allison home in his car, that had to mean something. 

Stiles felt a slight impact on the mattress as the cat jumped up on the bed, out of sight. She brushed against his arm as she settled in for the night next to Derek.

He supposed he didn't care if she liked Derek best. Derek needed it a whole lot more than Stiles did. 

*

Derek could probably navigate Stiles' kitchen in his sleep. That was a plus this morning, as he autopiloted through the motions of making coffee.

There were eggs in the fridge. Would Stiles want eggs for breakfast? Derek wasn't conscious enough to make pancakes. Eggs weren't difficult, he could manage that. If the coffee ever brewed. 

He stood in front of the coffeemaker, staring it down. Somehow, that didn't make it work any faster.

He was pouring his first cup of the day when Stiles' dad walked in, turned toward the basement door, spotted Derek, and stopped short.

"Derek," Stiles' dad said. 

"...?" Derek replied, staring. Good thing he'd thrown clothes on before coming down, he almost hadn't bothered. 

"I did knock."

Derek hadn't heard a knock, but that didn't mean there hadn't been one. He wasn't great at mornings, which was most of the reason why he hadn't slept at Stiles' house much. Laura was just as bad as he was, they tended to avoid each other until at least ten o'clock. 

"I—" Derek glared at the coffeemaker. "I'm not really—"

"I can tell," Stiles' dad said, shaking his head. "Stiles told me I could come over and grab something out of the basement. Give me a minute and I'll be out of your way."

"Wait." Derek forced the rest of his brain online, caffeine or no caffeine. "I was just about to make breakfast, do you want to — do you want eggs? Stiles should be up soon." Derek hoped. 

Stiles' dad only paused a moment before he said, "all right," and ventured further into the kitchen. Derek handed him a coffee mug from the dish rack. 

"You can call me John," he said. John. That sounded strange.

"Is scrambled okay?" That was better than _whatever you say, sir,_ which had been Derek's first response. 

"That's fine," Stiles' dad — _John_ , he had a name — said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "I wouldn't have come by if I'd realized you were spending the night. Didn't see your car."

 _I know when you spend the night_ , he was saying. 

Derek was already starting to regret the impulse that had made him invite John to breakfast. Stiles needed to wake up soon. 

"Allison has my car," he said. 

"Does she," John said, blowing on his coffee. "How'd that happen?"

It occurred to Derek then: he had the sheriff over for breakfast, not just Stiles' dad. He'd tried to bluff Kate about calling John last night, but Derek could actually talk to him about her right now, if he wanted. 

"You look like there's something on your mind," John noted. 

"Nothing important," Derek said. That didn't sound convincing to _him_ ; John merely watched him over the rim of his mug, not saying a word. "Getting my car back from Allison." That sounded unconvincing, too, and it wasn't entirely a lie. He hadn't thought ahead to getting home before the wedding. 

"Is that so," John said. 

Derek cracked half a dozen eggs, back to the kitchen as he stood at the stove. 

"Melissa said you're fixing up a house," John said. "Over on Oak?"

"Yes." Had he told Melissa the house was on Oak?

"Been empty for a while. It'll be nice to see someone living there."

"I'm restoring it to sell," Derek said. 

John made a thoughtful noise. "Not sure you're going to get your investment back. Beacon Hills housing market isn't exactly on fire." 

"I'm not doing it to turn a profit." 

"Expensive hobby," John said critically. 

"I get by," Derek said, voice flat. Was Stiles ever going to get out of bed?

"I see," John said. "So — wedding DJ, right?" Could he have said that with any more skepticism?

"I'm helping my sister out," Derek said, hating how defensive he sounded. 

"I see," John said again. What, what did he see? "What did you do before you came to Beacon Hills?" That was a polite enough question, but he asked it with the air of someone expecting the punchline of a joke.

Derek put a plate of eggs down in front of John a little too hard, rattling the table.

"I was a bartender," Derek said. "Laura wanted to come back here, and she asked me to help her so I am, and no, I don't need a significant return on my investment, but it's the only thing I use my parents' money for and it's worth it to me. Is there anything else you want to know?"

The sheriff — John — looked satisfied. He'd done that on purpose, hadn't he? He'd deliberately riled Derek up to get him to talk. 

"Just making conversation," John said. "Fork?"

There was a telltale creak on the stairs. Stiles came in a moment later, eyes only half open. He hadn't managed pants yet, but he'd at least thrown on a T-shirt. 

"Hey," he said to Derek, giving him an uncoordinated kiss good morning before circling around him to get to the coffeemaker. 

"Give it a minute," John said. 

Stiles poured the coffee, dug the half and half out of the fridge, pulled a spoon out of the dish rack, and froze. 

"There it is," John said.

Stiles swung around, brandishing the spoon, eyes wide.

"Dad? What the — um, what are you doing here?"

"Came to get that box out of the basement. Derek invited me to stay for breakfast," John said.

Stiles turned his bug-eyed stare on Derek. "You did?"

"I was trying to be polite," Derek said, making it clear what he thought of John's politeness in return.

"Oh my god," Stiles muttered to himself, clutching his coffee mug. "It's too early for, why are you — why."

Derek sympathized. "Sit, I'll make pancakes."

"Okay, good, I — wait, no, I thought you had a wedding in the morning." Stiles gestured with his coffee mug, sending a spray of coffee drops across the counter. "Why are you still here, shouldn't you be getting ready or setting up or something?"

"I'm not working this one, just going," Derek said. Largely against his will, but he was going. He'd thought about canceling, all things considered, but he'd have to tell Laura why, and then she wouldn't want to go to the wedding either. He could wait to talk to her about it until later. 

"At noon," Stiles said. 

Derek wasn't sure he'd mentioned that. "Yes."

"Alan Deaton?"

He eyed Stiles. "Yes."

"We came this close to another wedding meet cute, I want you to know," Stiles said. "I didn't think you knew anyone in town, and anyway, Isaac told me Deaton hired a band."

"You didn't tell me you were going to a wedding today." How did Stiles know Deaton? Was it one of those small town things? 

"I wasn't until yesterday. Isaac begged me to fill in as his plus one so he wouldn't be left by himself when Scott and Allison inevitably ditched him to be adorable on their own." He gestured with the coffee mug again; Derek followed along behind with a dishrag. "What's-her-face broke up with him two days before the wedding. Who does that? Poor guy."

 _What's-her-face_. Derek had never met her, but he felt a tiny amount of sympathy for her, just the same. 

"Is everyone going?" He wasn't sure he could handle all of them today. Scott, Allison and Isaac alone would be bad enough. 

"Nope, only us ... five. Us six? Is Laura going?"

"Yes."

"Us six," Stiles said. "I knew it, I _knew_ you jinxed me with more weddings, I _told_ you." 

"I didn't _jinx_ — do you want pancakes or not?" 

"It's ten thirty," John said. Derek had almost forgotten he was there. Ten thirty, shit, maybe there wasn't time for breakfast after all. 

"Okay, let's—" Stiles dumped his untouched coffee into a travel mug and shoved it at Derek. "Take my car, go get ready, and be back here in half an hour." 

"Fine." Derek emptied the rest of the coffeepot into the travel mug. Stiles could make more after he left. 

"But remember, Isaac is my date today," Stiles said. 

"Then I guess Isaac can—" Stiles clapped a hand over Derek's mouth. What, like he was going to say something explicit in front of Stiles' dad? He grabbed Stiles' wrist, pulling his hand down. "Seriously, Stiles?"

"You'd better go, the clock is ticking," Stiles said, twisting his hand in Derek's grip to squeeze his fingers.

"Nice to see you, Derek," John said. 

"You too," Derek lied. Stiles made a frantic _get out_ gesture at him. 

"We sure would love to see more of you," John added. Stiles sighed, pressing a hand to his face. "Say, Thursday night?"

Derek glanced at Stiles, who was clearly trying to come up with an adequate lie to get them out of it and failing. Stiles shook his head slightly, gesturing at him: _up to you_. 

"Thursday is fine," Derek said, because he couldn't come up with a half-decent lie, either. 

"Great," John said, saluting Derek with his coffee mug. "I'll see you then."

*

The second the front door shut Stiles swung around toward his dad, waving an arm back in the direction Derek had fled. 

"What the hell was that?" 

"Always nice to see you, son," his dad said, getting up to grab a fork from the dish rack before settling back in with his eggs. Had Derek really made him eggs? What episode of The Twilight Zone had Stiles woken up in?

"Talk about nice to see me, I've never _seen_ Derek look so relieved to see me, and that's saying something." Stiles narrowed his eyes. "What did you say to him?"

"I've only been here a few minutes." That was an evasion, if Stiles had ever heard one. "I like him."

"You do," Stiles said, disbelieving. 

His dad raised his eyebrows. "You think I shouldn't?"

"No, I — that's not what I meant, obviously I want you to like him, but that happened awfully fast for only being here for a few minutes." And maybe, on some level, Stiles had expected his dad to have objections to Derek, to dislike him as quickly as he'd disliked Sarah. Stiles didn't have any other measure for comparison; there was Sarah and there was Derek, and that was it. 

"Sometimes it doesn't take much," his dad said. "He cares about you and he can't lie worth a damn, that's good enough for me." 

"How do you, what makes you say that?" Derek had left half a pan of eggs behind, but Stiles needed carbs in the morning. Aha: Derek had also left behind a box of diner pie in the fridge. 

"I annoyed the crap out of him and he agreed to come to dinner anyway, for one," his dad said. Stiles had been asking about the lying part, not the caring part, but that didn't mean he couldn't latch onto that admission of annoyance guilt. 

"Hah, I knew it." Stiles dug into the pie, glaring at his dad. "Did you get it out of your system? Can we have a nice family dinner without an interrogation on Thursday, or should I have Derek contact his lawyer first?"

"Funny," his dad said. He studied Stiles for a moment, pleased. "You seem happy."

"I am happy," Stiles said. 

"That's all I needed to know," his dad said. He turned his attention to his eggs. That Derek had made him. "You'd better go get ready."

"Yeah, I will, in a sec." Stiles inhaled the rest of the pie, tossed his fork into the sink, and gave his dad a hug. Brief irritation had nothing on the lingering ache from yesterday. His dad must have picked up on it, because he hugged back just as tightly. 

"What brings this on?"

"Derek," Stiles said. "Nobody is going to interrogate me. Laura is happy that I show up at all, there isn't anyone who — anyway, that's why."

His dad was starting to look guilty when Stiles stepped back, which hadn't been the point. He didn't want his dad to feel bad about grilling Derek, not as much as all that, anyway. It just — it sucked, no other way to put it; Stiles was never going to have awkward breakfast encounters with Derek's parents. 

"I met his mother a few times," his dad said. This was news to Stiles, why was this news? Had his dad been sitting on this information until he decided he approved of Derek? "I wish I remembered her more, it was a long time ago." He glanced up, saw the expression on Stiles' face, and leaned back in his chair. "She worked at the animal clinic. I don't recall what her husband did — I don't think I knew they had kids. They left town," he pursed his lips, "not long after we got rid of that yappy little terrier, right before you came along. Twenty-five, twenty-six years ago." 

"You met Derek's mom," Stiles said slowly. 

"You weren't born yet and Derek had to have been knee-high to a grasshopper, but yeah, I did." He gave Stiles a crooked smile. "I don't know if I should tell him that or not."

Stiles swallowed. He needed a couple days of nothing new coming at him, just to process the past forty-eight hours. 

"You should," he said. "Maybe not on Thursday, but — sometime. You should." 

Thursday. He couldn't think about Thursday dinner yet, he hadn't even made it to Sunday. 

Crap. Sex Sunday was canceled, wasn't it. If he were Derek, he'd definitely want to cancel. Maybe they could have Cuddle Sunday. Stiles could give Derek head rubs on demand and a free pass to mock Han Solo as much as he wanted. If that wasn't true love, nothing was. 

"I should go get ready," Stiles said. 

"Have fun," his dad said. "I'll clear out before Derek gets back."

When Stiles got back downstairs, his dad had not only cleared out, he'd done the dishes and made more coffee. 

That was definitely _sorry I picked on your boyfriend_ in Dadspeak.

Stiles wasn't born yesterday — he knew it didn't mean _and I'll never pick on him ever again_ — but hey, clean dishes were clean dishes. He'd take it. 

*

 ** _From: Laura_**  
Where are you? We're going to be late. 

**_To: Laura_**  
I'll meet you there. 

**_From: Laura_**  
Promise? You aren't skipping out on the wedding?

 ** _To: Laura_**  
I'll see you at the church. 

She was gone by the time Derek got home. There was a bright green post-it on the bathroom mirror: _Don't be late!_

He'd told her he would be there. She needed to ease up a little with the paranoia. Derek didn't really know Deaton, didn't care about his wedding, and wasn't looking forward to being reminded of his parents all day, but he'd told Laura he would go, and he was going. 

At least Stiles would be there. Not only would Stiles be a buffer between Derek and Laura's inevitable _remember when_ nostalgia reel of things Derek didn't remember from when he was four years old, he'd also be a good excuse to leave the reception early. 

Very early. As early as possible. Then, Derek planned on crawling back into bed with Stiles and his obnoxious purring cat and sleeping for a day or five. 

*

"I'm going to go find Laura," Derek said, eyeing the small crowd of people milling around in front of the church. 

"Sure, I'll wait here for Scott and Allison," Stiles said. He thought he'd seen Allison's car pulling into the parking lot. 

They turned up a minute later, heels dragging. Scott looked tired. Allison straight up looked like she didn't want to be there, she wasn't even trying to fake it. Derek was probably faking it like his life depended on it, right now; he was determined not to upset Laura today, Stiles was still unclear on what that was about. 

"Hey." Stiles gave them a little wave. "How are — um, good morning." 

Scott must have heard all about last night, because he didn't ask why Stiles was being awkward at them, just gave him a small smile. 

"Isaac is running late," Scott said. "He, whoa, Derek." 

Stiles saw an opportunity to lighten the mood and seized it. 

"What about Derek?"

"He's here, he's walking right toward us," Allison said, her eyebrows climbing. 

"Funny," Stiles said.

"Um, Stiles—" Scott grasped his shoulder and turned him around, pointing at Derek and Laura. "We're not joking."

Stiles grinned at Derek, making a _fancy meeting you here_ gesture. Derek rolled his eyes, but he pulled Stiles in by the lapels of his suit, giving him a kiss hello, or maybe a kiss hel _lo_ , hi, much better than the off-center peck Stiles had managed in the kitchen an hour ago. 

"This is revenge for high school, isn't it," Scott said. Allison laughed, which was a definite improvement on the tired scowl she'd had before. 

Stiles grinned at them over Derek's shoulder, shifting only slightly to the side, one arm wrapped around Derek still. 

"We have to stop meeting like this," Stiles said. 

"Don't let them fool you, they drove here together," Laura said. Allison gave him an exasperated look, but she was still smiling: Stilinski for the win. 

"You never told me you knew my boss," Scott said, sounding like he wasn't sure if he wanted to get irritated about that or not. 

"I didn't want to get into it," Laura said, making it clear she wasn't going to get into it now, either. "I assumed you'd be here. Stiles was a surprise."

"You could've told _me_ Scott knew Deaton," Derek said, brushing a hand over the back of Stiles' suit jacket — brushing off cat hair, probably, Stiles couldn't find his lint roller anywhere. 

"If you ever listened to anything I said about Alan, you would've known," Laura said. Wow, cranky. 

"We're waiting on Isaac before we go in," Stiles said, trying to change the subject before he wound up spectating a Hale siblings brawl. 

"You're waiting on your date, you mean," Derek said, following his lead. "This means I don't have to dance with you at the reception, right? Your date can handle it?"

"I'm sure he can, he's very limber," Stiles said. Derek's eyebrows shot up. "I hear! I hear that he's very limber."

"We'll wait for Isaac, you go in," Allison said, pointing at the church doors. "I've already had as much cute as I can take this morning." 

"Seconded," Laura said. 

Man, _everyone_ was cranky this morning. Allison he understood, Laura was a question mark.

"I think retreat is our best option," Stiles said.

"Seconded," Derek said, glaring at Laura. 

Okay, then. This was going to be a _really_ long wedding, wasn't it. 

*

"So," Stiles said. "Are you going to tell me how you know Deaton?"

Derek hesitated, looking for Laura. She wasn't inside yet. 

"He was a friend of our parents," Derek said. "He felt obligated, I guess, after everything. Kind of kept tabs on us. I don't really know him, Laura does."

"Small world," Stiles said. He didn't mention Kate, but Derek knew he was thinking about her. 

"Small town, maybe," Derek said. "I used to live here when I was little, we moved when I was four." 

Stiles didn't comment on that, only stretched his left arm over the back of the pew, fingers idly worrying at the top seam of Derek's sleeve. 

Derek let himself lean into Stiles a bit. 

"He's the only one who kept in touch with Laura." Derek at fifteen hadn't given a shit about a friend of his mom's they hardly ever saw, but Laura had been grateful, it meant something to her. Today meant something to her. "She wants — I know she's going to want to reminisce, because she remembers living here before, she remembers when Mom worked with Deaton's dad at the clinic, but I don't remember any of it, and it's not — I wish she wouldn't."

"Any time you want to reverse-Graduate our way out of here, just give the word," Stiles said. 

"Reverse-Graduate?"

Stiles made a counterclockwise motion with his right hand. "That's where, instead of busting into a wedding and causing a scene, you sneak out of a wedding quietly."

"I think you just made that up," Derek said. 

"I make stuff up all the time, I'm creative," Stiles said. 

Isaac slid into the pew and climbed over them, depositing himself on the other side of Stiles. 

"Why did your sister say she's heard I'm limber?" Isaac shot Derek a baffled look. "Is that how she hits on people, because I got dumped two days ago, that's way too soon for me, and you owe me one, so—"

"She was making fun of Stiles," Derek said. He was pretty sure Laura wasn't into Isaac; she tended to go for bossy-smart, not that Isaac wasn't smart. At least, Derek assumed he was smart, he hadn't spent a whole lot of time with Isaac yet. 

"Oh." Isaac sat back, relieved. "So you still owe me one."

"Unfortunately," Derek said. 

"Hey." Allison sat next to Derek and bumped his arm with hers. She didn't say anything else, but she was sitting awful close to him in that _your space is my space_ way they all had with each other, so maybe she thought they'd bonded last night. Derek gave serious thought to telling her to move down. 

Scott and Laura slid in next to Allison, effectively creating a two-person barrier between Derek and Laura's nostalgia. 

Stiles tugged at Derek's sleeve, giving him a questioning look and tilting his head at Allison: _do you want me make her back off?_

Derek shook his head, settling back against Stiles' arm. So long as Allison kept on being useful, he didn't care if she invited herself into his personal space or not. 

*

Stiles didn't know Deaton all that well. 

He'd known the guy for years, vaguely, in a _oh, you're Scott's boss_ kind of way. As a teenager, he hadn't been a particular fan of the way Deaton always seemed to look amused and knowing when they were having their various melodrama implosions in his animal clinic. At twenty-five, he could appreciate that it was seriously impressive Deaton hadn't just given up, fired Scott and Isaac, and banned them from the premises.

He also knew Deaton in a _sorry my cat is such an asshole_ kind of way, but that was about as far as their acquaintanceship went. Stiles saw him sometimes at the animal clinic and he heard stories about him from Scott and Isaac, but they weren't friends. 

If Isaac hadn't been dumped at the last minute, there would have been no reason whatsoever for Stiles to go to Deaton's wedding. He hadn't known the guy was getting married until Isaac had called him. 

Deaton's reception had a receiving line, which meant Stiles had to think of something to say to him other than _sorry my cat is an asshole_. 

Derek was twitching next to Stiles in line, actually twitching. Stiles thought about taking his hand, but Derek had a proven ability to reach out when he wanted to, and he hadn't, so Stiles decided to keep his hands to himself for now. 

_Congratulations, and thanks for not firing Scott when we were sixteen, I think this whole animal doctor thing might work out for him yet._ No, he should try for something that didn't have a punchline. _Congratulations, my cat wished she could be here but —_ dammit, he didn't have anything without a punchline. 

"Congratulations!" Stiles shook Deaton's hand a little too energetically. "I'll bet you didn't expect to see me today, I'm Isaac's date."

"Thank you, Mr. Stilinski," Deaton said. "And I did expect to see you today. Heard all about it." 

Oh, right, because Isaac and Deaton actually talked about things. Stiles tried to imagine having Deaton as a father figure and couldn't do it, but it seemed to work for Isaac, so what did Stiles know. 

"I'm not actually dating Isaac, though," Stiles clarified. "I'm dating Derek. Hale."

"I've heard all about that, too," Deaton said, turning his attention to Derek. Was there anything Deaton _hadn't_ heard about? 

Derek shook his hand awkwardly, face carefully blank. 

"Congratulations," Derek said. 

"Thank you for coming, Derek," Deaton said. He didn't add anything about Derek's parents or Laura, and Derek immediately relaxed. 

"Congrats, it's nice to meet you," Stiles said to Deaton's wife, trying to remember her name from the program. Alicia? Alyssa? 

"It's nice to meet you too, Stiles," she said, in a way he thought meant, _I know everything about you and I'm secretly mocking you right now_. 

Stiles stared at her for a moment, then grabbed Derek's hand and pulled him away from the line. 

"I thought that went well," Stiles said. 

"It could have been worse," Derek acknowledged. 

"Now all we have to do is listen to a couple speeches and eat some cake, and we can get out of here," Stiles said. 

Derek gave him a sidelong look and a faint smile. 

"Yeah, I know, you love me, I'm great," Stiles said. Derek didn't deny it. 

*

Derek was alone at their table, watching Stiles dance with a tiny old lady who knew his dad somehow. Small town, Derek reminded himself; a lot of people at this wedding seemed to know Stiles' dad. That was making it more difficult for them to make a clean getaway than they'd anticipated. 

Laura sat next to him, plunking down a plate of vegetable sticks and shrimp. 

"I'm sorry I was a little tense this morning," she said without preamble, crunching a carrot stick. "It's weird for me too, you know."

"I know," he said. 

"It would help if you'd stop acting like you'd have a fit if I mentioned Mom and Dad today," she said, completely undermining her attempt at an apology. 

That was it. He'd had enough of this day. 

"You want to talk about Mom and Dad? Fine," he said, turning toward her. "I'm sorry I don't remember living here before. I know you wish I did. I know that for you, this is the happy childhood hometown where nothing bad ever happened to you, and I'm glad you have that, I am, but _I don't_. I don't have that, because I _don't remember_ , and I'm tired of you trying to force it on me like something will magically be fixed if I just—" He shook his head.

"I want you to like it here, that's all," Laura said, sounding tired and sad and sorry, genuinely sorry this time. 

Derek pointed at the dance floor, where Stiles was stepping on the feet of an extremely patient octogenarian. 

"I don't think you have to worry about that anymore," he said. 

"I did notice you haven't been home for two nights running," Laura said, trying for a smile. 

"I—" And now they were coming right up to a line he wasn't going to cross, because nothing but hideous embarrassment and oversharing with his sister lurked on the other side. _I've only been sleeping over, we have a sex date for tomorrow but I don't know if that's still on or not, I just know I like his bed when he's in it and I'd much rather be there than here right now._ That conversation wasn't happening."You don't — I'm going home with Stiles. Tonight."

"Okay," she said, her teasing smile real now. 

"I'll see you — Monday," he said, his face heating. She laughed. "Don't harass Stiles about anything. I mean it."

"I won't," she said. He almost believed her. 

Derek made a strategic retreat out onto the patio, giving Stiles a small wave on his way out to let Stiles know where he was going. Stiles waved back, almost tripping over the tiny old lady he was dancing with. 

There were too many people on the patio. Derek followed a gravel path around a hedge and found a goldfish pond with two lounge chairs next to it, no one else in sight. 

He dropped down onto one of the chairs, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

Derek wasn't alone for more than a minute before Allison came around the hedge, tucking her hair behind her ear, hesitant. 

"I thought I saw you come out here," she said. She lifted two small plastic cups and a bottle of vodka. "Want company?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Derek said. 

"We've both had worse ideas," Allison said. " _I_ want company, is that good enough?"

If she was going to be drinking vodka straight, maybe it was for the best if he kept an eye on her for a while. A couple shots and she'd be done; that was nothing he couldn't handle. 

"Fine, but we aren't talking about your aunt," Derek said. 

"Good, I don't want to." She poured him an entire cup of vodka and handed it over. "Scott wants to talk about it. I don't. Let's talk about something else."

Derek eyed the cup of vodka she'd given him. That had better not be what she considered a shot.

"Like what?" He asked, taking a pointedly small sip. 

Allison poured herself a full cup of vodka too, knocked back maybe a third of it, and made a face. 

"Have you seen Gilmore Girls?"

*

"Hey," Scott said, wandering up to where Stiles and Isaac were clearing out the remains of a tray of meatballs. This was what happened when people invited them to banquet-style dinners, they couldn't be held responsible. "Have you seen Allison?"

"I think I saw her take an entire bottle of vodka outside a few minutes ago," Isaac said. 

"Oh, that's fine, Derek is out there, they can hang," Stiles said. 

"An entire bottle of vodka," Isaac repeated. 

Stiles made a dismissive gesture. "I'm telling you, it's fine. Derek can't get drunk, it's like his superpower." 

*

"Fucking _Kate_ ," Derek said. 

"We used to be close, when I was little." Allison made a face. "At least, I think we were. Maybe we weren't, I don't know, maybe she's always been awful."

"She's awful now." 

"Really awful," Allison agreed. She refilled his cup of vodka. He wasn't sure how many times she'd refilled it already, which probably didn't mean anything good. 

"She made me think she was in love with me, and she got me trust her, and then she told me I was right," Derek said. 

She squinted at him. "Right?"

"I told her I felt responsible for the fire that killed my parents and she said I was right," he said. 

"Oh, wow," Allison said, eyes wide. 

"It felt good," Derek said, shrugging and drinking more vodka. "It did. It was horrible, but it felt good, too, to have someone agree with me. And then she convinced me to give my parents' money to save the fucking whales, because I'd feel less guilty when it was gone and my mom, she would've liked that, the whales."

" _Whales_ ," Allison said. 

"Whales," Derek confirmed. 

Allison giggled behind her hand. 

Derek snorted. "Whales, also known as Kate's bank account. I was going to do it, too."

"That's pretty dumb," Allison said. " _Whales_. Why didn't you?"

"She got greedy." Derek snorted again. "-Er. Greedier. She wanted Laura's money, too, and I wasn't going to let her have it. And once I stopped just — feeling guilty and believing every word she said — yeah, it was pretty dumb. Whales."

"It's all right," Allison said. "When I was seventeen, she crashed my mom's funeral and used me to scam my dad out of his savings. She's like an evil grief vulture."

Fucking _Kate_.

"I didn't think I could hate her any more than I already did, but you just proved me wrong," Derek said, impressed. 

"Back at you," Allison said. They clinked glasses. 

*

"You should probably go check on them," Isaac said. 

"Give them some time to bond," Stiles said, grabbing a second plate of cake.

"They have a lot to talk about today," Scott said. 

*

"I like you," Allison announced.

"Why," Derek said, unable to inflect it into a proper question. 

Allison laughed. Why was she laughing, it hadn't been a joke. 

"I don't think you liked us very much, at first," she said, rolling over onto her side on the lounge chair to give him a horribly earnest look. How drunk _were_ they, where was _Stiles_. "It used to bother me. But it's okay, I get it. I didn't like much of anyone after she was done with me, either. I didn't even like Scott for a while."

"I don't not like you," Derek said. 

"I think that might be nice, but I can't tell," she said.

"Can we just stop talking," he said. 

"You try to act all," she spun a hand in the air, "but you _really want_ Scott to like you, oh my god, it's adorable." What, that wasn't in any way accurate. "I keep expecting him to come home from Stiles' house with one of those notes: _do you like me, check yes or no_. He has no idea, either, I love him so much."

None of that made any sense. 

"Stiles thinks it's cute too, we talk about you guys." Allison smiled at him. "He's so happy. Don't screw it up."

Derek stared at her. She'd said it so _sweetly_ , but also like she would cut him. 

"I mean that for you, too, I mean, _about_ you, I—" She bit her lip. "She — fuck her." Derek had never heard her swear before. "Fuck her, she doesn't get to decide if you get to be happy or not, right?" She stabbed a finger at him. " _You_ decide. You do."

Derek groaned, rubbing his eyes. "We weren't going to talk about Kate."

"That was _an hour_ ago," Allison said. "Anyway, we won't after tonight, we won't. But right now, she can go to hell. But tomorrow, we won't talk about her anymore." She held out a hand. "Pinky swear."

"I'm not _pinky swearing_ ," Derek said. 

"Just do it," Allison demanded. 

"You are incredibly drunk right now," Derek said. 

"You're only saying that because you can't see your face," she said. 

That was fair. He had no idea what it meant, but it was fair.

*

"All right, they've been out there long enough that even _I'm_ wondering what the hell," Stiles said. "Maybe we should go check."

Isaac followed Scott and Stiles outside. They crossed the patio, circled a hedge, and found Derek and Allison on a pair of lounge chairs next to a pond, no one else in sight. They were turned onto their sides, facing each other; Derek had an arm folded under his head, listening intently. 

"—Really nice with his shirt off," Allison said. 

"He took his shirt off a lot last month," Derek said, speaking too deliberately to be anything other than really, really drunk. 

"So did Scott, August is the best," Allison sighed. She was also really, really drunk, and hold on, had they just been talking about Stiles with his shirt off?

"An entire bottle of vodka," Isaac said for the third time. "You guys are idiots." He clapped Scott and Stiles on the back and took off. 

"I thought you couldn't get drunk," Stiles said, approaching Derek's chair. Derek didn't sit up, which was telling; he smiled at Stiles _and_ Scott, which was even more telling. 

"Wow," Scott said, staring at Derek. 

"Allison tricked me," Derek said, stretching. "She's ... she doesn't look like..."

"She drank you under the table," Stiles interpreted. Allison gave him a smug smile. "Or, from the looks of it, you drank each _other_ under the table." He glanced at Scott. "I'll get mine, you get yours. I don't think we need to let Isaac know we're leaving."

"Yeah, he knows," Scott said. He grabbed Allison's shoes and her sweater, and she walked out ahead of him, remarkably steady for someone as drunk as Stiles knew she was. 

He sat down on the edge of Derek's chair, running a hand down Derek's arm. "Good talk?"

"I'm Luke," Derek informed him. 

How drunk _was_ he? "You're Derek."

"On Allison's show," Derek said. Aha. That — yes, he'd give drunk Allison that much, he could see Derek as Luke. 

"I'm pretty sure I'm Kirk, so I'm not sure that works out for us," Stiles said. 

"I have no idea who that is," Derek said. "I'm just repeating what Allison told me." 

"We can watch a couple episodes tomorrow, Scott says it's heartwarming," Stiles said. 

"We aren't doing anything but having a lot of sex tomorrow," Derek said, and smirked. "A lot of it, that was what you said."

Stiles wasn't going to celebrate the return of Sex Sunday just yet. He'd believe it when he saw it. And by _it_ , he meant — Derek's completely sober Sunday morning consent. 

"We'll have to do other things eventually," Stiles pointed out anyway. "Like eat. Feed the cat, so she doesn't eat _us_."

"I told Laura not to expect me back until Monday," Derek said. 

"Oh, god," Stiles said, looking around to make sure she wasn't anywhere nearby. "Before or after you started drinking with Allison?"

"Before," Derek said. 

Huh. Well— "Let's just get back to my house for now, and we can see about the rest in the morning." 

"Okay." Derek gave him another vodka-warmed smile and sat up for a kiss, bracing himself with a hand on Stiles' cheek. He tasted like alcohol and wedding cake, and his fingers flexed lightly against Stiles' jaw, not quite caressing. 

Stiles rested his forehead against Derek's, sighing. "We can do whatever you want tomorrow. It doesn't have to be — we'll do whatever you want."

"I have some ideas," Derek said, kissing him again. 

*

What the hell time was it, why was there — what was — sunlight — pillow. Derek grabbed the pillow to his right and yanked it over his head, ignoring the startled yelp that followed. 

He must've fallen back asleep after that, because the next thing he knew, he was alone in Stiles' bed. There was a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the nightstand. Derek drank the entire glass, squinting at Stiles' alarm clock: eleven thirty, when had that happened?

What had _happened?_ He remembered all of it, every excruciating moment, but he was still baffled. Allison had kept going, and he'd kept matching her drink for drink, sure she'd stop before he got drunk, and she — god, she could put it _away_ , was that what she and Laura did on the weekends? 

Stiles had left a clean towel and Derek's overnight bag on his desk chair. Derek grabbed both and stumbled into the bathroom, stripping off the remnants of his wedding clothes and tossing them into one corner. 

He stood under the shower for so long he lost track of time, clouds of steam drifting through the air. 

Today was Sunday, he realized. 

He had plans for today. 

He'd _had_ plans for today, before Kate had shown up. Two months of working up to sleeping with Stiles, and she had to turn up right when everything was good, was _great_ , when he was finally willing to accept that everything was great and stop questioning it all the time. 

She really was the fucking worst. Allison had said it perfectly. 

Allison had also said that Kate didn't get to decide whether he was happy or not. She'd been incredibly drunk at the time, but she'd had a point. 

To hell with everything else. Derek still had plans for today. A lot of them. 

*

Stiles was stretched out on the couch, pretending to read a book. He had no idea what book he'd grabbed. He checked the cover: _Historic Preservation_. Not one of his, then. 

Derek had been in the shower for a while. At least he was out of bed; Stiles had left him there over an hour ago, after Derek had buried himself in Stiles' pillows and refused to give any of them back. He'd been halfway paying attention to CNN, but then he'd heard Derek get up, and now—

Now he was just waiting to find out if Derek's ideas were still in play, whatever they were. 

He fidgeted with Derek's book, listening. The water cut off. 

The stairs squeaked. Stiles leaned up on an elbow, peering into the hallway. Derek—

Was naked. 

The book hit the floor. 

Good thing Stiles hadn't opened the blinds yet. There was a whole lot of naked Derek Hale walking through his living room, damp from the shower, casual as anything. 

"It's Sunday," Derek said. 

"Yeah, I—" Stiles swallowed. "I noticed." 

"Take your shirt off," Derek said, resting a knee on the edge of the couch. Okay, so they were doing this now. Right now. Stiles could roll with that. 

"I hear you like me with my shirt off," Stiles said, words muffled by his shirt as he yanked it up over his head. Derek pulled Stiles' boxers down and off and wrapped a hand around him. Stiles wasn't prepared for that, not even slightly; for a moment his arms were trapped in his shirt, flailing, and he was trying to gasp in air through bright green cotton. 

Yeah, Sex Sunday was definitely still on, good to know. 

He threw his shirt somewhere, didn't look. Derek was kneeling over him, watching Stiles harden in the slow-moving curl of his fist. That had to be the most satisfied look anyone had ever given Stiles' dick, like Derek thought he was some kind of wizard for giving Stiles an erection.

"Are you planning on doing anything with—"

"I want you to fuck me," Derek said. Stiles' hips jerked up into Derek's hand, carrying on without his brain, which had just gone offline, maybe permanently. "We can do that here if you want, but I seem to remember something about defiling your childhood bedroom."

Then he leaned down and licked that spot he apparently liked on Stiles' neck, stubble scraping against Stiles' skin. 

They were absolutely not going to make it to Stiles' bedroom if Derek kept going. It was nice that Derek had a plan, but he was failing to execute it well. 

Stiles made a strangled noise and pulled on Derek's wet hair, dragging his head up for a messy kiss. Derek jerked him faster and sucked on his tongue, all but lighting up a neon sign that said, _Stiles Stilinski, blowjobs are in your immediate future_. 

Yes, that, awesome. Wait, no—

"Upstairs," Stiles panted against his mouth. "Upstairs, upstairs, I want to—" He was onboard with fucking Derek, he had never been so onboard with anything, never. "Upstairs, come on, please — hngh," and that was it, words were done with Stiles, he was going to come in about five seconds if Derek didn't stop. 

"We have all day to get upstairs," Derek said, sliding down Stiles' body. 

That gave Stiles lots of potentially awful ideas — the house was fairly small, but that didn't mean they couldn't have sex in every possible corner of it — but he'd have to think about it later, because Derek's tongue had found Stiles' dick and they were getting acquainted. 

When Stiles was a freshman in college, he'd kept himself from coming too soon by conjugating French in his head (and sometimes out loud, what happened in his head tended to happen out loud by default). He didn't think that was going to work now, and not only because he didn't remember his college French. 

It hadn't really worked then, either. Mostly it'd just led to him getting an inappropriate erection during a final, he was lucky he'd passed that exam at all. 

"Stiles," Derek said, impatient. Stiles' eyes flew open. Derek was watching him, waiting for his full attention. 

"I was trying to remember être," Stiles said. 

"I'm trying to give you a blowjob," Derek said, "but if you have something else you need to be doing—"

"No, I, I'm enjoying it a _lot_ ," great, now he sounded like he was filling out a customer satisfaction survey. "A lot, I just don't want to—"

"We have _all day_ ," Derek said. Stiles thought that was permission to come as fast as he wanted, or maybe an order to come immediately, it'd sounded more like an order. 

"I want," Stiles started to say, and then Derek ducked his head and took Stiles back into his mouth, blotting out the rest of it. 

This felt like an argument they were having over Stiles' orgasm. Derek was determined to get him off as quickly as possible now, very _challenge accepted_ , and Stiles was equally determined not to let go yet, not yet, _not_ yet. He could win this argument, he _could._

Derek's argument was really convincing. 

"Your — god, you—" Stiles wanted to watch, but if he did that Derek was going to win in two seconds flat. He stretched an arm up over his face, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Derek was about to win anyway, because everything was too good and distractions had been banned and Derek was letting Stiles rock up into his mouth until he was helpless with it, toes curled into the couch cushions. 

Stiles slid his arm up over his head, clutching at the arm of the couch.

"This is your five-second warning," Stiles got out. Derek made a deeply satisfied noise that felt fucking amazing, and Stiles had to look, had to.

Derek was watching him, face flushed, mouth wrapped around Stiles' dick. Stiles came so hard he couldn't even make a sound. 

It took him a few moments to start processing things again. Derek hadn't waited for him; Stiles couldn't see much more than the curve of Derek's spine and the rapid movements of his arm and shoulder, but he could hear the ascending pitch of Derek's wet gasps against his hip. He slid a hand into Derek's hair and tugged, because Derek liked it when—

Derek made a shocked noise and went still, shuddering hard when Stiles tugged at his hair again. 

Yeah, Derek liked it when Stiles messed with his hair. 

Stiles gave him a minute, then said: "Would it have killed you to put on clothes to come downstairs? Not that it wasn't hot, the way you just appeared all wet and naked, but dude, I have neighbors."

Derek shook his head, not even trying to respond to that. Fair enough, Stiles felt like he'd been hit by a 2x4 of sex, post-coital snark could probably wait. 

"Good morning," Stiles added.

Derek looked up at him, eyes creased with poorly hidden amusement. 

"Good morning," Derek said. 

"It's Sunday," Stiles said. 

"I noticed," Derek said. It took Stiles a moment to remember how this had started, right before Derek had torn off his clothes and blown him like they had somewhere to be in five minutes. 

"I noticed you noticing." Stiles waved a hand at the mess they'd made of his couch. "You get to clean the couch, I was the one who said _upstairs_."

Derek grabbed Stiles' shirt off the floor, wiped himself off with it, and tossed it away again. 

"Hey, you — mmphm," Stiles objected, letting Derek pull him up into a kiss. "You just volunteered to do my laundry, too." 

"We can go upstairs now," Derek said. 

"Oh, can we," Stiles said sarcastically, because of course Derek got to decide when they could go upstairs — where Stiles was definitely going to fuck him, okay, fine. "Yeah, okay, we can — let's do that."

"But I'm not doing your laundry," Derek said. 

"We can negotiate the laundry later, I—" Derek kissed him. "Stop that, it isn't—" Derek kissed him again. "You think you're funny, don't you?"

"You like it," Derek said. 

"You, I love, your underhanded ways of derailing conversations, I merely cope with," Stiles said. 

Derek kissed him slower this time, softer, unhurried. 

Stiles had a feeling it'd be a while yet before they made it upstairs, but that was fine. Derek was right; they had all day. 


	6. The Warm-Up Period

"Hi," Lydia said. "Is this important? I'm meeting with Dr. Barclay in five minutes."

"I had sex with Derek and it was awesome," Stiles said. 

Lydia hung up on him. 

He tried Scott next. 

"Hey," Scott said. "How is—"

"Awesome," Stiles said. "So is sex with him, it's awesome."

"That's great," and bless Scott, he sounded like he meant it, "but please don't tell me the details, I have to hang out with him sometimes."

He tried Erica next. 

"I had sex with Derek and it was awesome," Stiles said. 

"Details," Erica demanded. Okay, now that someone had actually said it, he just felt weird. What was he supposed to say? _Fucking Derek is the best thing ever, let me tell you all about what it's like when he rides my dick?_ Yeah, not happening. 

He hung up.

Fucking Derek was in fact the best thing ever. Mostly. 

All right, fine, their first try had been a little awkward. 

A lot awkward. Painfully awkward. They'd gone in for a kiss at the same time and that ... hadn't worked out so well. Stiles had recovered from _ow, my nose_ a lot sooner than Derek had recovered from _oh my god, your nose_. Stiles' nose had only smarted for a second; Derek's trauma had involved a hugely unnecessary amount of embarrassed angst and cuddling.

At least the second try had been a success, thank god. Derek had more or less shoved Stiles flat to the mattress and climbed on, and that had worked out pretty well for both of them. 

As soon as Derek woke up from his inconveniently timed nap, Stiles intended to go for round three. Round four? He intended to get off with Derek again, he could figure out what number they were on later. 

Derek's phone buzzed on the nightstand. Repeatedly. It was possible that Stiles shouldn't have called Derek's BFF to tell her that fucking Derek was awesome, whoops.

Stiles' phone rang. Dannywas calling.

"How do you know already," Stiles said, skipping over _hello_. "Did someone light the gay sex Bat-Signal?" 

There was a pause. 

"I'm calling to see if we're still on for Tuesday," Danny said finally, possibly regretting his choice to be friends with Stiles. 

"Oh," Stiles said. That made sense. "Yeah, we're good. Derek is going to be glaring at some poor old couple's fiftieth anniversary party that night, so it'll just be—"

"Does Derek live there now?" 

"What, no." Obviously that wasn't what Stiles had meant, jeez, Danny. "I meant you and me and soccer on my TiVo, no boyfriend, that's all."

"Uh-huh," Danny said. "Also, 'gay sex Bat-Signal'?" 

"It's cool, you called during intermission," Stiles said. 

"Intermission," Danny repeated, tone bordering on incredulous. Stiles couldn't blame him, it wasn't like Stiles was known for being a guy people wanted to have sex marathons with. 

"Yeah, I have a feeling that by the time you come over on Tuesday, there won't be a single room left that Derek and I haven't had sex in," Stiles said. "I honestly don't know if I'm bragging or apologizing right now." 

"We could hang out at my apartment on Tuesday," Danny said. "I won't have the game, but—"

"Oh, right, because no blowjobs have ever happened on _your_ couch," Stiles said. 

Derek opened one eye and looked up at Stiles, yawning into his pillow. 

"Intermission is over, gotta go." 

"I hate you," Danny said. 

"I know," Stiles said, hung up, and turned his phone to silent, just in case anyone else decided to call. 

Derek stretched, muscles flexing. Stiles had spent most of the summer staring at Derek's abs and wanting to put his hands and mouth all over them, it had been a real test of his self-control. Actually, it had been news to Stiles that he _had_ self-control; he was growing as a person. 

"I have a plan," Stiles said, running a hand down Derek's chest and over his abs. 

"Does this plan involve food?" Derek pushed himself up on his elbows, watching Stiles shamelessly grope his muscles. 

"Eventually," Stiles said, leaning in for a kiss. Derek kissed him slowly, one hand coming up to cup the back of Stiles' head. He didn't seem fully awake just yet, and after a moment he dropped back onto the pillows, pulling Stiles down with him. Stiles settled halfway over him, fingers tracing meaningless shapes over his ribs. 

He slid a hand up into Derek's hair. Derek exhaled sharply, easing Stiles back with a hand on his chest. 

"Sorry, I thought you—" _liked that_ , Stiles meant to say, but Derek was turning over onto his hands and knees. 

Oh. All right, then. 

*

There was a chance Derek was developing a hair pulling kink.

"Stiles, move—" The rest was lost on a rush of breath as Stiles' hips snapped forward hard. He liked it when Derek said his name. He was also oddly embarrassed about that, even though Derek had figured it out months ago, over the phone. "Move your hand."

"What, where," Stiles said, grip tightening over Derek's hip and shoulder. 

" _Up_ ," Derek said, tilting his head back. Stiles knew that Derek liked it, Derek shouldn't have to spell it out for him. 

"I have no idea what you — _oh_." 

Stiles got a tentative grip on Derek's hair and tugged his head back and to the side, his fingernails raking across Derek's scalp as he rocked forward, sucking a bruise into the exposed line of Derek's neck. 

Derek squeezed his eyes shut, a sharp noise shuddering out of him. 

"God, you really like that," Stiles gasped against his skin, breath hot over the wet mark he'd left. He pulled at Derek's hair again, harder, and that made it even better, Derek arching back into it with a groan. "You _really_ —" Stiles was losing his rhythm, his voice shaking. "Should I keep doing — do you want me to—"

What kind of question was that? 

"Yes," Derek snapped, or tried to, anyway, it came out as more of an encouraging moan, _yes, yes_ , words tripping out of him against his will. 

"You should touch yourself," Stiles said hoarsely, fingers curling and uncurling in Derek's hair, frantic. "I don't — I don't think I can mess with your hair and jerk you off at the same time, that — it sounds like another accident waiting to happen."

Derek shifted to the left, weight braced on his forearm. He'd barely got his hand on his cock before Stiles was yanking at his hair again and angling in just right, so perfect it was probably accidental, and that was it, he was coming, and he definitely, _definitely_ —

He absolutely had a hair pulling kink now, that was ... new. 

Stiles fucked him through his orgasm, forehead pressed to Derek's back, quiet in the way he got right before he came. Derek was learning his tells already.

Derek heard himself say, "come on, Stiles," breathless and impatient. Stiles drove in deep and came with a choked sound, clutching at him. 

"I think we're getting better at this," Stiles observed a few minutes later, face mostly mashed into his pillow. 

Derek didn't bother replying. 

"You might want to check your phone," Stiles said, the pillow failing to obscure his guilty expression. "I think Erica has been texting."

 ** _From: Erica_**  
I hear sex with you is awesome

 ** _From: Erica_**  
how is sex with stiles

 ** _From: Erica_**  
come on we are never going to be an hbo series if you don't give me more information

 ** _From: Erica_**  
I tell you about my sex life all the time

 ** _To: Erica_**  
Those shows are all about girls. I'm not a girl. 

**_To: Erica_**  
And you can stop telling me about your sex life any time. Please.

 ** _From: Erica_**  
so what if you're not a girl girls never want to gossip with me anyway

"Underhanded," Derek muttered. Erica didn't draw attention to it very much, but Lydia had been right, at the wedding: Erica wasn't close to Lydia _or_ Allison. Derek didn't know if there was some lingering high school thing going on there or what. 

**_To: Erica_**  
It's nice.

 ** _From: Erica_**  
that sounds so boring

 ** _To: Erica_**  
It isn't boring.

 ** _From: Erica_**  
now we're getting somewhere

Derek stretched over Stiles to drop his phone back on the nightstand, done with that for now. He sat up and looked down at Stiles, who smiled up at him, poking his leg. 

" _You're_ nice," Stiles said. 

"I'm really not," Derek said. "And would it kill you to at least pretend you aren't reading along as I text?"

"You're nice sometimes, and I love you a lot." Stiles poked his leg again.

Derek turned his head away quickly, flustered. He'd been tired and hurt and angry on Friday night; it was different hearing Stiles say those words in bed. 

"You don't have to say it if you don't want to," Stiles said, sitting up too, bumping his shoulder against Derek's. "You've ticked the box, we're on the same page, I'm good. But I like saying it, so I'm going to keep doing that. Unless it makes you uncomfortable or something, I guess. Does it? Make you uncomfortable?" 

"No." It made him feel ... a lot of things, but uncomfortable wasn't one of them. 

"Okay," Stiles said. 

Derek wasn't sure what to say now. He glanced at Stiles, hoping for a cue; Stiles made an unhelpful face, shrugging. 

"I love you," Derek said, to prove that he could. Stiles beamed at him. "But it's strange."

"Loving me is strange? Yeah, I could see how—"

"Saying it is strange," Derek said, though sometimes the other thing was true, too. 

"So save it for special occasions. Then you'll only have to feel strangely in love with me—" Stiles scrunched up his nose, thinking. "Birthday, Christmas, Valentine's Day, what am I missing, oh, anniversary, we'll have one of those, and New Year's, that's five, five times a year."

"I think I can manage more than—"

"Now that I think about it, the Fourth of July is a special occasion," Stiles said, tapping his fingers against his mouth. "Memorial Day, Labor Day — basically any three-day weekend. _President's Day_ , totally a romantic holiday—"

"Just let me know when you've come up with a schedule," Derek said. 

"I'll put it on the fridge," Stiles said. 

Derek couldn't tell if he was joking or not. 

*

Stiles was stretched out on the couch with Derek at his back and the cat curled up against his stomach, slowly falling asleep. It was fine, he'd wake up when the credits rolled, he'd seen this movie at least twice already. 

They'd done this a lot. Before, Derek would leave when the movie ended. Stiles didn't know if they were going to go back to that after today, or if Derek would start sleeping over regularly. 

He hoped this would be a regular thing. It would be weird to go to bed alone tomorrow, now that he'd remembered how much better he slept with someone next to him. 

He wasn't to the point yet where he could honestly say, _I wish you were here all the time_. He'd been on his own for a while now, and he'd learned to enjoy it; having Derek around all the time was still an odd, not completely comfortable idea. Between date nights, Stiles left laundry lying around and dishes in the sink, and sometimes the cat puked on the floor and he opted to deal with it _after_ nitpicking reruns of CSI. When Derek saw what Stiles was really like, he probably wouldn't run for the hills, but at the very least the amount of nagging in Stiles' life would go up fifty percent. 

Derek had actually scrubbed the couch down with baking soda. That didn't bode well for him being the sort of boyfriend who wouldn't care if Stiles' socks tended to accumulate underneath the furniture. 

Stiles was happy with the way things were now. He wasn't in a rush. 

But he liked Derek spending the night. He liked having Derek around. He knew he and Derek were going to live together eventually, he was sure they were headed there, so maybe they were entering a cohabitating warm-up period.

Maybe he'd leave some laundry on the floor next time and see what happened. 

*

"What the hell is Lydia doing here?" Derek squinted at the bleachers. "And — my _sister?_ "

"Lydia drove in for the occasion," Stiles said, grinning and waving. Allison and Laura waved back; Lydia kept right on going with whatever story she was telling Laura, smirking at Derek. 

"The occasion of me playing lacrosse," Derek said, skeptical. 

"The occasion of you getting your ass kicked, she said." Stiles led him to the edge of the field, where Scott, Danny, Isaac, Boyd, and Erica were gathered around a heap of gear. "We couldn't get Laura to be our eighth, so instead Erica has volunteered to spectate until you've had enough, and then she'll swap out with you." 

"Better view from the sidelines," Erica said, handing Derek a stick that said _Property of Beacon Hills High_ on the side. 

Derek eyed the stick. "Did you steal this from the high school?"

"Borrowed it," Scott said. 

"It's cool, Danny is the assistant coach," Boyd said. 

"Try not to break it," Danny said. 

Stiles patted him on the back. "If you develop a sudden love of lacrosse, I'll buy you one." 

"Derek and Isaac are on my team, Scott, you're in goal for Boyd and Stiles," Danny said, pointing across the field with his stick.

"Wait, why am I playing _against_ Derek?" Stiles glared at Danny. 

"Because you're more likely to take it easy on him at first," Danny said, unperturbed.

"Oh," Stiles said. 

Allison came down to join them, brandishing a whistle. Was she the referee? Was _anyone_ in this group not obsessed with lacrosse? At least Lydia looked largely disinterested, angled in toward Laura and ignoring the field entirely. 

Stiles had given Derek Lacrosse 101 the night before. Derek would be lucky if he remembered half of it. His strategy, to the extent that he had a strategy, was now to rush Boyd and hope that startled Stiles enough to let Isaac score a goal. 

"You'll do fine," Stiles said.

"You'll suck at this, but it's all right, I'm right over here waiting to tap in," Erica said, settling on the bench. 

"Just try not to get hit and aim for the goal, we'll work on the rest," Danny said in what had to be his lacrosse coach voice, as though this were a skill Derek had any interest in cultivating. He pushed a black and red helmet at Derek's chest. 

Laura clapped when Derek put the helmet on. 

Stiles had damned well better appreciate this. 

*

"Ground rules for tonight," Stiles said, hands on his hips. "Number one—"

"Hold it right there," his dad said, pointing at him. "I promised I'd take it easy on him, there's no need to—"

" _Number one_ ," Stiles repeated, louder. Over at the kitchen counter, Melissa stopped chopping a tomato and turned to watch, eyebrows raised. "No making fun of his job. Number two, no one brings up his family unless he does. Except Laura, you can talk about Laura, but that's it." 

"I've met Laura, she's very nice," Melissa said. 

Stiles waved an arm at her. "Good, tell Derek that."

" _I_ haven't met Laura," his dad said, frowning. 

"She's over at Scott's a lot, I could invite her to dinner sometime with the boys," Melissa said, putting a block of cheese, a bowl, and a grater in front of Stiles.

"Number three," Stiles said, trying to regain control over the conversation and grate cheese at the same time. "No asking about his five-year plan. He doesn't have one, I don't have one, you can save it at least until the next dinner."

"I will accept rules one through three," his dad said. "What's rule four?"

"Number four — there is no number four." He couldn't think of any other topics that were fairly off-limits, none that his dad or Melissa would know to ask about, anyway.

"Then we're good." His dad gestured at the cheese grater. "Watch what you're doing, that thing is sharp."

The doorbell rang. Stiles jumped, scraped his knuckles against the grater, and swore, sticking his fingers in his mouth. 

"Told you," his dad said, getting up to answer the door. 

Melissa pulled Stiles' hand down and inspected his knuckles. "You aren't bleeding."

"Shhh, I'm trying to listen," Stiles said. 

"Sir," Derek said in the front hallway, awkward as hell. 

"Derek," Stiles' dad said, amused. "I told you to call me John. Is that wine? Is that — how many bottles of wine did you bring?"

"I wasn't sure what you were making," Derek said, even more awkwardly. 

"That's very thoughtful of you." They came into the kitchen. His dad had three bottles of wine tucked under one arm and was going to start laughing at any moment. Derek looked frustrated, which probably meant he was embarrassed. 

"Hello again," Melissa said, taking the wine and inspecting each bottle. She handed one of them to Derek, putting the others in the wine rack on the counter. "We can open another of these next time you come over, thank you, honey."

Stiles coughed. Had Melissa just called Derek _honey?_

Melissa shot him a warning look. "Stiles, why don't you get the corkscrew for Derek?"

Derek turned his attention to Stiles for the first time. Some of his frustration eased when Stiles smiled at him, and Stiles abandoned the cheese, going over to him. 

"Hi," Stiles said, peering at the wine Derek had brought. "Here's what I don't understand: you weren't sure what dinner would be, so you brought a variety of ... three dry reds?"

"Just give me the corkscrew," Derek said tightly. 

"You don't have to be nervous, I already laid down the law," Stiles said. 

" _Corkscrew_ ," Derek repeated, giving him a death glare. 

Melissa handed Derek the corkscrew. 

"I apologize for Stiles," she said. 

"Thank you," Derek said, and then the tips of his ears turned red. "For the—" Melissa waved him off. 

"Here," she said, taking the opened bottle from him and handing it to Stiles. "Why don't I show you around?" 

When they were out of the kitchen, his dad turned and eyeballed Stiles.

"Do I need to give _you_ a lecture about taking it easy on your boyfriend?"

"I made one joke," Stiles protested, and then he smiled, because — his dad was defending Derek. His _dad_ was defending _Derek._

This dinner was already going better than the one with Sarah had. Stiles had a feeling that by comparison, this dinner was going to be a breeze. 

*

The next dinner was less uncomfortable, and the one after that almost wasn't uncomfortable at all, and by the middle of October it was routine. One night a week they had dinner at John and Melissa's, and Derek helped Melissa cook while John and Stiles stayed away from anything more complicated than boiling pasta or chopping vegetables. 

Derek had learned to cook his sophomore year of high school thanks to PBS and the internet. Laura had never had the time, and they hadn't been able to afford takeout at first, so he'd learned. 

Melissa never asked him when or why he'd learned to cook; he figured it was obvious. 

The Thursday before Halloween, Melissa waited until everyone had started eating to say: 

"I invited your sister to dinner next week, Derek, I hope that's all right." 

Derek eyed her over a spoonful of pumpkin soup. If she cared whether or not it was all right, she would've asked him first. 

"That's fine," he said anyway, because he was getting better at being polite. 

"Scott and Allison are coming, too," Melissa said. "I thought Laura might feel more comfortable if there were more people."

"All right," he said automatically, not sure why he was nervous again for the first time in weeks. Laura alone hadn't done it, but Scott and Allison — it was going to be Derek and Laura versus a full family dinner, and Derek still hadn't managed to win Scott over yet, what if—

Stiles stepped on Derek's foot under the table, giving him a look that said, _chill out_. 

It would be fine. Derek could handle a dinner with six people; given how many people Stiles knew, it could've been worse. 

*

The little things were what genuinely irritated Stiles. If he took a survey of his friends, he knew their list of annoying things about Derek would look like: 

a) scowls a lot  
b) rarely smiles, even when he isn't scowling  
c) bickers with Stiles constantly  
d) could take or leave all of Stiles' friends

The truth was that a) was mostly hot; b) Derek smiled more and more often all the time; c) his friends would be mildly scarred to learn that most of the bickering they witnessed was foreplay; and d) his friends were growing on Derek, even if Derek wouldn't admit it under torture. 

No, what irritated Stiles was the sudden clutter of hair products on his sink, and the pissy look Derek gave him when he put his feet up on — his own! — coffee table, and the way Derek sometimes stole pillows in his sleep. Not blankets — _pillows_ , so that every now and then Stiles woke abruptly as his head hit the mattress. Stiles had thought the pillow-stealing incident after Deaton's wedding had been a one-time hangover thing, but no, not so much. 

He put up with it for the rest of September, as Derek eased into sleeping over on date nights. He put up with it for most of October, as Derek started staying over two, sometimes three times a week. 

Then he woke up one morning at four AM next to a Derek-shaped pillow fort, and that was it, he was done. 

"Up," he said, shoving at Derek's shoulder. "Up, up, get up."

Derek sat up so quickly he almost took Stiles out. He wasn't all that awake yet, but he was upright, giving Stiles a vaguely worried, bleary-eyed stare. 

"What, what's wrong," Derek said.

"If I have to be awake at four o'clock, so do you," Stiles said, and stole back both of his pillows. "You can go back to sleep now. In the morning we're going shopping, and you're going to buy as many pillows as it will take for this to end. I don't care if there's an entire moat of pillows between us. I don't care if you have to buy out a Target."

"What," Derek said again, eyebrows creasing. "What?"

"You have no idea, do you?" Stiles waved a hand at the pillows. "Is that — is it just that you're sleepwalking this entire conversation, or do you somehow not know? Haven't you slept with someone before, I mean, _slept_ , regularly slept?"

"No," Derek said, blinking at him. 

Stiles stared back at him. "No?"

"No," Derek repeated, uncomfortable now, clearly awake. 

Had Derek and Kate not—? That wasn't a conversational avenue Stiles was going to pursue before sunrise, or ever, but he couldn't help boggling anyway. 

"Have you never had a long-term relationship before?" Stiles had never been even slightly interested in hearing about the people Derek had slept with prior to meeting him, but this, this he couldn't let go.

"It's four in the morning," Derek said, curling in, knees drawn up to his chest. He really didn't want to talk about this, did he. 

"Okay," Stiles said, feeling like a jerk now. "We can talk about this in the morning."

"Thank you," Derek muttered. Sarcasm noted. 

"At Target," Stiles said. 

They didn't talk about it at Target, but they did buy four new pillows. 

Derek also bought new sheets. Stiles couldn't tell if that was an apology for annoying pillow habits or a subtle criticism of his cheap jersey bedding. 

It didn't matter; the new sheets _were_ pretty amazing, and pillow-stealing was on a definite downswing by November. 

Stiles hadn't figured out what to do with all of Derek's hair products yet, but it was a work in progress. 

*

Surprises were what irritated Derek most. There were constant little things that annoyed him, the way tiny bits of cat litter got everywhere, Stiles' habit of putting his feet on the table. But he was used to all of that now, and familiar things didn't bother him very much. 

Surprises, though, were a pain in the ass. 

Once in a while there was a good surprise, like lacrosse night getting canceled or Stiles blowing him before breakfast. Most of the time, surprises were annoying at best, and Derek just had to roll with whatever it was and try not to make the face Stiles insisted terrified everyone. 

He was trying to put a good face on it now, sitting at Stiles' kitchen table with Stiles, Scott and Allison. He was honestly trying. 

"Thanksgiving," he said, just to be sure. 

"Yeah, I volunteered last year in a moment of weakness and Chris hasn't forgotten," Stiles said, twirling a fork in his spaghetti. "Normally it's just the three of us, Chris, and sometimes Melissa, but this year we'll have Boyd, Erica, and Boyd's grandma, too, so — a lot of people." 

Derek looked around the kitchen, double-checking in case another, larger room had magically appeared. 

"Where are you going to fit seven people?"

"Nine," Stiles said, confused, and then stopped, spaghetti slipping off his fork as it hovered in midair. "You're coming, right? You and Laura?"

"Apparently," Derek said. 

_Awkward_ , Allison's face said, as she feigned interest in the garlic bread. 

_Super awkward_ , Scott's face agreed, when Derek glanced to his right. 

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," Stiles said unconvincingly. 

"Tell me one thing." Derek pointed his fork at Stiles. "Who's cooking?"

"I ... was," Stiles said. 

"Last year, when you volunteered," Derek said. 

"I _did_ say it was in a moment of weakness," Stiles said. 

"But now you're planning on me cooking," Derek guessed. 

So this was what Stiles looked like when he was busted. Derek hadn't caught him in anything significantly sneaky before, that too-innocent _I have no idea what you're talking about_ look was new. 

"For _nine people_ ," Derek said. 

Allison took another piece of garlic bread. Scott was suddenly fascinated by the swirling pattern on his plate. 

"Oh, come on, please," Stiles said. "You know what dinner is going to taste like if I make it, and I have no idea how to _do_ all those dishes at one time, how does that even work? I'll just get a bunch of microwavable instant stuff and buy a turkey pre-cooked, and do you really want that on Thanksgiving?" 

"My dad has a recipe for stuffing, he'll probably want you to use it anyway, that part won't be hard," Allison tried. 

"If I'm making the turkey, I'm using my—" _mom's_ , "—stuffing recipe." 

Stiles sat up straighter, staring intently at Derek. "Does that mean you'll do it?"

"On three conditions," Derek said. He was going to use whatever damn recipes he wanted to, he was going to install a pot rack in the kitchen and populate it with things that weren't crappy aluminum relics of Stiles' first apartment, and there was going to be pie, a _lot_ of it, that he didn't have to make. 

"Yes to all of them," Stiles said, waving a hand. "Yes. Awesome, I knew you'd agree." 

Allison and Scott looked incredibly relieved. Derek didn't know if that was because the awkwardness was over or because they wouldn't have to eat Stiles' food; he suspected it was a bit of both. 

*

"Nine so far," Stiles said, checking over his list. "I have no idea where we're going to fit everyone. Are you coming?"

Lydia made an indecisive noise. "Who's on the list so far?"

"Me and Derek, Scott and Allison, Erica and Boyd, Chris, and Boyd's grandma," Stiles said. 

"That's eight," Lydia said impatiently, inviting several mathematician jokes Stiles decided to pass on, in the interests of the holiday spirit. "Laura isn't coming?" 

"Laura is number nine," Stiles said. He would've gotten there, if Lydia had given him a minute to finish reading his list. "Isaac is going to be at Deaton's, Danny will be out of town, Dad and Melissa have to work."

"I'll come," Lydia said. Stiles didn't bother asking if her parents would mind, just added her to the list. "How did you wind up with so many people?"

"Boyd's grandma has retired from the turkey-roasting business," Stiles said, doodling a turkey in the margin. "I think she was hoping Erica would take over, but that might lead to someone's—" _House burning down_ , yeah, no, jokes about house fires didn't have the same ring anymore. "It wouldn't be good. So I invited them." 

"And Derek and Laura," Lydia said. 

"Obviously Derek and Laura, did you think they wouldn't be here? Derek is cooking. He and Chris are already staging some kind of cold war over the stuffing, the holiday will _not_ lack for entertainment."

"You're going to need a new table."

"I don't have anywhere to fit a new table," Stiles said, chewing on the end of his pen as he eyed his list. He could fit six at the kitchen table, _maybe_ , but where the hell would he put everyone else? He barely had room for Derek's cookware. 

Stiles' cookware was inadequate for Derek's Thanksgiving needs, so Derek had installed a shiny new pot rack and hung a bunch of fancy pots with copper on the bottom. At least those were safely stowed somewhere, the kitchen table was overflowing with basters and thermometers and all kinds of stuff Derek had brought over from his house. 

"Push the couch against the wall and set up tables in your living room," Lydia said. 

That — might work. It would be a tight squeeze, and it would work better if they moved the couch out entirely, but it had potential. 

"You can crash in the guest room if you want, it isn't spoken for," Stiles said, awarding Lydia a squiggle that vaguely resembled a star. 

"I promised Allison I'd stay with her if I came home for the weekend. Should I bring anything?"

"Pie," Stiles said.

If she brought a side dish, she'd risk being drawn into Chris and Derek's frankly hilarious battle over Thanksgiving recipes. Stiles was telling everyone to bring pie; it was safer that way, even if they wound up with more pie than dinner. 

*

 ** _From: Erica_**  
not going to thanksgiving

Derek sighed, taking it in stride. She was probably pissed at Boyd about something, he knew how to handle this. 

**_To: Erica_**  
Should I bring beer?

 ** _From: Erica_**  
yes and a pizza

 ** _From: Erica_**  
and some of that pie you like I want that too

This had better be important, or Derek was going to take the pie and the pizza and leave her alone with her dance movies. The beer she could keep. 

Erica grabbed the pizza out of his hands the moment she answered the door, helping herself to a slice as she led him into the kitchen. She dumped the box on the counter, turning to glare at Derek as though he'd personally offended her. 

"If Grandma wants babies so badly, _she can adopt one_ ," Erica hissed. 

Derek opened a beer and handed it to her cautiously. 

"She has Boyd all fired up about kids, because she told him — this is what she said! She told him, she wants great-grandkids before she dies, and _the window is closing_." Erica gestured at herself with her pizza. "This window is not open yet, so that's too bad for her."

"Did you say that to her?" Derek hadn't officially met Boyd's grandma, but he'd seen her at the wedding, and for someone in her eighties, she looked like she could kick his ass. In a battle between Erica and Boyd's grandma, he wasn't sure who he'd pick to win. 

"No, do you think I'm stupid?" Erica narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to say anything at all. "I haven't talked to her about it directly. But she's going to be at Thanksgiving, and she's going to push babies all night, so I'm not going." 

Was she serious about canceling this time? She sounded serious. 

"You have to go, we have too much food as it is," Derek said. She couldn't cancel two days before Thanksgiving. If she didn't go, Boyd and his grandma wouldn't go, and Derek and Stiles would be stuck eating cranberry sauce until Christmas. 

"I don't have to do _anything_ ," Erica said heatedly. 

"Didn't you and Boyd talk about this before you got married?" Derek was trying not to sound like he did in fact think she was stupid, but if Erica and Boyd hadn't talked about this yet, they were stupid. "Kids? When to have them? Whether or not you want them?"

"Yes! And we agreed, not for at least five years. Boyd was in no rush, not until Grandma cornered him and told him she might die soon, so he should reproduce immediately." Erica scowled. "We had a plan. Scott and Allison aren't having kids for a while yet either, we could all do kids at the same time and then it would be — nice, and not just me and Boyd hauling a baby around while everyone else had fun."

"So tell her that," Derek said, not seeing the issue. 

" _You_ tell her that," Erica shot back. 

Oh. The issue was that Erica was scared of Boyd's grandma, wasn't it? Well, at least that Derek understood. 

"Go see her tomorrow and deal with this," Derek said. "This is Stiles' first time hosting a big Thanksgiving, and you are _not_ going to screw it up."

"You're the least sympathetic friend I've ever had," Erica said, glaring at him. 

"You knew that months ago," Derek pointed out. 

" _Try_ ," she said. 

"Fine." Derek grabbed the box of pie and a fork, leaning back against the counter. Erica made an outraged noise, eyeing the pie box. "If you want to skip out on Thanksgiving because you can't tell Boyd's grandma that you don't want kids yet, you're welcome to do that. You can do whatever you want. I support you."

"You're such an asshole," she said. "You agree with her, don't you? Too bad if I want a career, Grandma is on a schedule."

"You want a career?" Erica had spent the past three years as a bouncer, Derek wasn't sure that qualified as a career. 

Erica hadn't meant to say that, had she. She looked annoyed, then hesitant, then annoyed again. 

"I've been studying," she said, folding her arms, beer bottle and all. "To apply to be a deputy sheriff trainee."

"You haven't said anything about this," Derek said, staring at her. It was almost impressive, given how little of her personal life she filtered out of their conversations. 

"I'm not in yet, I didn't want to jinx it," she said. 

He could see her as a deputy. She'd probably be good at it — no, he knew she'd be good at it. It had to be something she really wanted, if she'd been too paranoid to even bring it up in conversation. 

"If you tell her about this, will she back off on the other thing?" Derek handed Erica the box of pie as an incentive. 

"Grandma would loveit." Erica picked at the pie with her fork. "But I don't want to say anything until—"

"So don't tell everyone else, but tell her," Derek said. This had an easy solution. If she didn't take it, he was going to go back to yelling at her about canceling Thanksgiving. 

"I'll think about it," Erica said. 

Derek nodded. "Does that mean we're done with this conversation?"

"For now."

"Good," he said. 

"Good," she repeated mockingly. "You're the worst."

"And yet, you keep bothering me with your problems," Derek said. 

"Shut up and grab a beer, I already have a movie in," Erica said, pushing him toward the living room. 

*

There had never been so many people in Stiles' house at one time. Never. At least, not for as long as he could remember, two decades and change.

Now there were people _everywhere_ , emphasizing how freaking _small_ the house actually was. 

He had three poker tables squished in end to end, and Lydia had brought over fancy turkey-embroidered tablecloths to make it all look slightly less haphazard. Stiles was sitting at one end of the table(s), nearly in the hallway; Boyd's grandma was sitting at the other end, deliberately screwing with Chris Argent. 

Stiles couldn't tear his eyes away. The punchline on the Derek vs. Chris stuffing war was Boyd's grandma making a huge production out of liking Derek's stuffing better. Stiles didn't know what Derek had done to get on her good side, but he must have done _something_ , because it was becoming pretty obvious that Derek was her new favorite. 

"This other one is mush, I don't like mush," Boyd's grandma said. 

Chris took the angriest bite of turkey Stiles had ever seen. Derek gave his plate a self-satisfied smirk that widened when Allison laughed into her wine glass. 

"Grandma, you'd better hope no one says your pie is mush," Boyd said, eyeing her. 

"I'm sure your pie is great," Scott said, leaning forward to address her. Chris shot him a look. "Not that the stuffing isn't great. All of it. Everything is great." 

Stiles patted him on the back. 

To his left, Derek was being smug at his vegetables, Laura and Lydia were making fun of someone's wedding theme, and Chris was glaring at Scott. To his right, Scott was making apologetic faces, Allison was dividing her food up into color groups, Boyd was pretending to like peas, and Erica was on her best behavior, no elbows on the table or anything, it was bizarre. 

"Yeah, don't forget to save room for pie, guys, we have ... five," Stiles said. "Wait, six. We have six pies." That was what happened when you told everyone but Derek or Chris to bring pie. 

"Derek, honey, do you like cherry?" Boyd's grandma smiled at him.

"Yes, ma'am," Derek said, even though Stiles knew for a fact he never ate anything but apple.

This was getting weird. As soon as dinner was over, Stiles was getting to the bottom of this whole Derek and Boyd's grandma situation.

*

Derek cornered Erica in the kitchen after dinner. 

"Did you say something to Boyd's grandma?" He whispered, eyeing the doorway into the living room. "Why is she being so nice?"

"I told her I talked to you," Erica said, not bothering to whisper. She shrugged. "I think she likes that I talk to you. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

That had to be number one on Derek's list of the all-time stupidest sayings. Before he could tell Erica that, in detail, she grabbed one of the pies off the kitchen table and went back into the living room. 

Laura came in a moment later, carrying a stack of dirty dishes. She abandoned them on the counter, leaning in to whisper quickly, "okay, spill, what did you do to Mrs. Boyd?"

"I didn't do anything," he whispered back. "She wanted great-grandkids, and Erica wanted to tell her to go to hell but had to be talked into it. If anything, I'd think she'd be _mad_ at me, I don't—" He stopped, staring at the tinfoil-covered pie she'd brought.

Laura followed his line of sight and laughed, too loud. He made a furious gesture and she covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head. 

"I don't think she's setting you up to sabotage you with pie," Laura whispered. 

Stiles came in with another stack of dishes, making a beeline for Laura and Derek. 

"What did you—"

" _I didn't do anything_ ," Derek said, right as Boyd walked in with the turkey. 

Boyd set the turkey on the table, pushing a couple pies to the side to make room. 

"Is this about Grandma?" 

"No," Derek lied. 

"Yes," Stiles said. 

Boyd clapped Derek on the back. "It isn't that hard to figure out. She _loves_ Erica, and Derek is Erica's new best friend who does whatever she wants, so now Grandma _loves_ Derek too. Five bucks says she brings over Christmas cookies next week." 

Great. "What am I supposed to do then?"

"You're supposed to eat cookies," Boyd said, giving him some side-eye. "Don't tell me you don't know how to act around a grandma, I saw you in there all _yes, ma'am_."

"Here," Laura said, putting the pie in Derek's hands and pulling off the tinfoil. "Go take this in."

" _Yes, ma'am_ ," Boyd coached him. Or mocked him, Derek couldn't tell which. 

"That's my mother's recipe," Boyd's grandma said when Derek walked in with her pie.

"It looks delicious," Allison said, saving Derek from having to hide the fact that he wasn't a fan of cherry pie. "I'll go get the pie plates."

And then Derek and Boyd's grandma were, inexplicably, alone in the living room. There was a gust of cold air coming from the front hallway, and a loud clamor of voices in the kitchen. Everyone else had scattered for the moment, leaving Derek all by himself. 

"It was real nice of you to invite us," Boyd's grandma said. 

_Stiles invited you_ , Derek wanted to say, but he had a feeling that would be rude somehow. 

"We had room," he said, which maybe wasn't the most gracious response, either, but it was true. 

She smiled at him anyway. He had no idea what to do next, so he busied himself by fixing the tablecloths. 

Allison came back in with the pie plates. 

"Dad is whipping cream like he has a grudge against it," she said cheerfully, as if that were at all normal. "And Laura brought some ice cream, so—"

Half a dozen people flooded into the living room at once, drowning her out.

Derek didn't think he'd ever been to a Thanksgiving this noisy. The sooner it was over, the better.

*

"Ugh," Stiles said. 

Derek made an agreeing noise, face buried in a pillow. 

"So much pie." Stiles nudged him. "This must be your favorite holiday."

"I may never eat pie again," Derek mumbled. That was definitely a lie. There was an outside chance Derek loved pie more than Stiles. "And nobody took their pie _home_ , what do they think we're going to _do_ with all of it?"

"Eat it," Stiles said, running a hand down Derek's spine. "You have a rep. Sorry."

"We can take some to John and Melissa tomorrow," Derek said. 

Stiles paused, his hand splayed out over Derek's lower back. Did that mean Derek wasn't going home tomorrow? He'd stayed over four nights straight, doing Thanksgiving prep. If he stayed tomorrow night, that would make this his longest string of consecutive nights in Stiles' bed so far. 

Derek had been very careful about how he divided his time between Stiles' house and his own. Stiles didn't have that problem, because he never spent the night at Derek's house. They'd tried it once, and in the morning, Laura had tortured them for the better part of an hour about how thin the walls were. That had been the end of any inclination Stiles had ever felt to spend time in Derek's bed, right there. 

"I already have some leftovers from dinner set aside for them," Stiles said, resuming his slow up-and-down sweep over Derek's back. "I'll bet we can pawn off a pie or two."

"Good," Derek said. "Did we take out the trash with the turkey bones in it, because the cat—"

"Yeah, we're good, you can go to sleep," Stiles said. The cat jumped up on the bed as if summoned and inserted herself between Derek and Stiles, shamelessly kicking Stiles in the stomach as she cuddled up to Derek. 

"Night," Derek said, and then he was out, like flipping a switch. That was a skill Stiles envied. Too bad it didn't work the other way; if Derek could wake up on a dime, there'd be one less uncaffeinated zombie in the kitchen most mornings. 

"Night," Stiles said. 

He didn't mind if Derek wanted to stay over tomorrow night. As far as Stiles was concerned, the more nights Derek spent there, the better. Over the past few months, his tendency to sleep better with someone else in his bed had slowly turned into him sleeping like _crap_ when Derek's side of the bed was empty. 

*

Christmas was quieter than Thanksgiving. Christmas was a _lot_ quieter; those who celebrated the holiday were off doing things in smaller family groups, Melissa was spending the day with Scott and Allison, and John was working, leaving Derek, Laura and Stiles almost on their own. 

Almost. Laura had insisted on inviting Lydia, because Lydia was in Beacon Hills for the university break and her parents were on a cruise, leaving her — in Laura's words — rattling around in her sad soulless McMansion, all alone. 

Derek didn't get why that made Lydia their responsibility — wasn't she Allison's best friend? Couldn't she have spent the break at Scott and Allison's apartment? — but come Christmas morning, Derek, Stiles, Lydia and Laura were squished onto Stiles' couch in their pajamas, watching ridiculous holiday movies in front of the horribly lopsided tree they'd decorated the night before. 

The tree wasn't lit. Stiles hadn't bought any lights, and if he'd had some left over from before, he'd thrown them out before letting Derek and Laura at his box of ornaments. That hadn't been necessary, but Derek had let it go, deciding uncomfortable talks about fire safety could wait until their second Christmas. 

Their first Christmas had Lydia and Laura teasing them constantly, that was uncomfortable enough for one holiday. 

"Derek believed in Santa until he was eleven," Laura said. 

Derek hated Laura. 

"That's sweet," Lydia said, leaning over to smirk at him around Stiles. "Did you also believe in the tooth fairy?"

"No," he said, glaring at Stiles when Stiles laughed. 

"He didn't believe in the Easter bunny either," Laura said, slouching down on the couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table and her head tilted against Lydia's shoulder. "But he _loved_ Santa."

"Laura cried the first time she saw a real-life reindeer," Derek said. He hadn't brought that up in a long time, but it felt all right to bring it up now, with Stiles leaning into him and Laura laughing in her snowflake pajamas. 

"Derek used to stay up and stare through the railing, waiting for Santa to show up." This was why she'd sat at the other end of the couch, wasn't it? So she'd be too far away for him to pinch her. "But he was pretty sure Santa was going to come in through the front door, because he'd looked up the chimney and he thought that was unlikely." 

"Okay, that _is_ sweet," Stiles said, patting Derek's leg. "I like that you were logical about it. Didn't you get suspicious when Santa never showed up?"

"All the excitement tired him out," Laura said, grinning at Derek. "He never managed to stay awake all night. Not once."

"And one year, Laura told me that after I fell asleep, she met Santa without me, and Santa said he didn't like me very much," Derek said. Older sisters were awful. 

"Derek was crushed," Laura said, laughing. "And then Mom got mad and threatened not to buy me any presents next year, and I had to tell Derek I'd lied about Santa not liking him, that Santa thought he was great." 

"Laura also used to cry when she didn't get to put the star on top of the tree," Derek said. He could do this all day, they hadn't even gotten to the time Laura had been grounded and banned from Christmas yet. 

"Says the guy who once threw the world's most epic Christmas fit over not having a wreath on the front door, of all things," Laura said, and pointed at the front hallway. "I'm surprised you didn't put a wreath up this year, what's up with that?"

"Do you want a wreath?" Stiles nudged Derek's knee. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's your house, I'm not going to tell you how to decorate it," Derek said. Besides, he'd been _eight_ that time with the wreath, he couldn't be held responsible for what had seemed like a required Christmas tradition at age eight. 

"We're going to go make breakfast," Laura said, standing abruptly and tugging at Lydia's sleeve. "Pancakes. Everyone wants pancakes, right? Good."

Derek wasn't sure what would come of Laura and Lydia making breakfast, but he refrained from commenting; if they wanted to burn pancakes for Christmas, they could do that, he had plenty of experience with eating Laura's burned food and pretending to enjoy it. 

"That was weird," Stiles said. "Did she suddenly get a craving for pancakes, or was she sneakily escaping more stories about her crying over reindeer?"

"She probably didn't want me telling Lydia about the time she was grounded on Christmas," Derek said. 

"Save it for dinner, she won't be expecting it then," Stiles said. 

Derek kissed him. Stiles smiled into the kiss, one hand spread out over Derek's chest, fingers tapping against the faded Beacon Hills Lacrosse lettering Derek had failed to notice until then. 

"This isn't my shirt," Derek said. He must have opened the wrong drawer earlier, he hadn't been paying much attention. 

"Not so much, no," Stiles said, and kissed him again, briefly. "But any time you want to wear my old high school T-shirts, feel free, it's working for me." He paused. "It's working for me a little too well, maybe I should just—" He moved down to the far end of the couch, waving a hand at the empty space between them. "Until after breakfast. At least." Derek opened his mouth to object. "Quiet, you're missing the Misfit Toys." 

Fifteen claymation-filled minutes later, Laura peered into the living room, spatula in hand. 

"Pancakes are on the table," she said, eyeing them.

"We'll be there in a minute," Derek said. 

Laura lingered in the doorway. "I didn't hear either of you say a word the entire time we were cooking."

"Rudolph is on," Stiles said, pointing at the TV. 

"So you didn't discuss anything," Laura said. 

"Oh, sorry," Stiles said. Laura perked up immediately. "Derek, did you want a wreath? I can call Dad and have him grab one from the tree lot by the diner, they're selling until noon." 

"If you want," Derek said. This was going to be a thing now, wasn't it. He was _definitely_ telling the Christmas grounding story at dinner. 

Laura looked incredibly disappointed with them both. 

"Hurry up before food gets cold," she said, turning back into the kitchen. 

"Is it the wreath thing?" Stiles gave Derek a confused look as he stood, turning off the TV. "Does she have something against wreaths on doors?"

"No," Derek said. "Elves, on the other hand—"

"Ooh, tell that one next," Stiles said, and pulled him into the kitchen, grinning. 

*

Stiles was sitting on the porch steps, his breath fogging the air. There wasn't snow — there was almost never snow on Christmas — but several of the neighbors had lights on their houses, including his dad, and it was nice, it was pretty. 

He'd needed some fresh air. Laura and Derek had been swapping Christmas stories all day, and that was great, he was glad, but he hadn't been able to reciprocate. All of his stories about Christmases with his mom had stuck in his throat, leaving him unusually quiet during dinner. 

Laura and Lydia were on the couch watching a movie in black and white, and Derek was doing something in the kitchen; it had seemed like a good time to sneak out for a bit. 

The night was colder than he'd realized. He pulled his hands into his sleeves and tucked them under his arms, shivering. 

Christmas wasn't something he got into, usually. After his mom had died, he and Scott had spent every Christmas until college at Scott's house playing video games, just the two of them. Then Scott had started spending Christmas at Chris Argent's house, and there were only so many holidays Stiles could spend with that guy, so he'd mostly stopped doing Christmas at all. Which was fine, it wasn't like he missed it, he and Scott could play video games any time. He and his dad swapped gifts later, maybe Stiles got cookies with red and green sprinkles, it wasn't a big deal. 

This, with Derek and Laura and Lydia, it was — nice. But it was strange at times, too, having an actual Christmas in this house without his mom. Thanksgiving had been fine, his mom hadn't been all that great a cook, Thanksgiving had never been their holiday, but Christmas — it was strange. 

The door creaked open behind him. 

"It's thirty-seven degrees out here, I checked," Derek said. 

Stiles patted the empty space to his right. The wood was freezing cold beneath his bare fingers, and he jerked his hand away, tucking it back into his sleeve. 

Derek sat anyway, grimacing. He handed Stiles a mug of cider and wrapped an arm around him, pressing close. Derek's body heat felt _amazing_. All right, fine, Stiles would go inside in a minute. 

"I haven't had people over for Christmas, well, ever," Stiles said, blowing on his cider. 

"Never?" He could see Derek watching him, but he didn't meet Derek's gaze, just lifted his mug for a cautious sip. "Not even Scott?"

"I used to go to his house." Stiles shrugged. "Now he goes to Chris' house. I could go to Chris' house if I wanted, but I don't. Want to."

Derek was quiet for a moment. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Those words almost never came out of Derek's mouth. Stiles tightened his grip on the mug, staring hard at the steam rising from his cider.

"No," he said, and then contradicted himself by going on anyway. "I'm really glad you're here. I'm always glad you're here, but today, I'm glad, I am, I like it, it's just weird, doing the whole nine yards with the tree and the big dinner and the Charlie Brown specials, and I miss my mom."

Derek pressed a kiss to the side of his head and tugged him in closer. Stiles scrunched up his nose and bit the inside of his cheek, because he wasn't going to cry on Christmas, that had to be against the rules. It wouldn't be the first time he'd cried on Christmas, but he'd been fourteen then and he was twenty-six now. 

He drank his cider. He didn't cry. Derek didn't say anything, just sat there with his arm around Stiles and pretended not to be cold as hell, because he was the best boyfriend ever. 

Stiles' dad pulled up a few minutes later, saw them sitting on the steps, and gave them both an _are you kidding me_ look. 

"It's almost freezing out here, get in the house," he said, coming up the sidewalk. 

"We were about to go in," Derek said, and stood, pulling Stiles up with him. 

"Uh-huh," Stiles' dad said. He lifted a slightly squished pine wreath decorated with what might, at some point, have been a gold ribbon. "Best I could do."

"That's great, thanks, Dad," Stiles said, gingerly taking the wreath and handing it to Derek. "I think there's a box of nails in the — oh." There was already a nail in the door, and Derek definitely hadn't done that today. Derek hung the wreath, opened the door, and gestured him inside. "Laura was right, you totally wanted a wreath on the door. Next year I'm getting the biggest, gaudiest wreath I can find."

"I was _eight_ ," Derek said. 

"I'm not going to ask," Stiles' dad said, and closed the door behind them. 

*

"I hate Valentine's Day," Boyd said, giving the sappy hearts-and-flowers ad on the television an unimpressed look. 

"I like Valentine's Day," Scott said, noisily digging a handful of chips out of a bag. "It's romantic."

"I have a date for Valentine's Day," Isaac said, clearly pleased with himself. Oh, right, that girl he was dating, what was her name? God, Derek was getting as bad as the rest of them. 

Danny just shrugged.

They all looked over at Derek. 

"No," he said. He wasn't commenting on Valentine's Day. His plans were none of their business.

His plans mostly involved Stiles fucking him in a bed and breakfast down the interstate, anyway. He didn't think any of them wanted to hear about that. 

Where the hell _was_ Stiles? He'd said he was held up at work, but Derek had assumed that meant he was running slightly late, not that Derek would have to play host to his friends all day in his absence. 

"Stiles isn't big on chocolates or flowers," Scott oh-so-helpfully informed him. 

"He liked that bonsai thing you got him for his birthday that time," Isaac said. 

"That wasn't _flowers_ ," Scott said. 

"You should take him somewhere nice," Danny said. 

"Or do something fun, Stiles likes to do fun stuff," Scott said. 

If Scott didn't want to hear about Stiles' sex life, he needed not to say things like _Stiles likes to do fun stuff_. 

"You're right," Derek said, smirking at Scott. "We're going somewhere nice where he'll do fun stuff." 

_Oh really_ , were the identical looks on Isaac and Danny's faces. Boyd shook his head, taking the bag of chips from Scott. 

"I didn't mean _that_ ," Scott said, making a face. "Is that — what do you mean, going somewhere nice? Where's nice?"

"I'm not telling you," Derek said. No way in hell was he going to risk staying at the same B&B as Scott and Allison over the holiday weekend. 

Every phone in the room buzzed, chimed or rang at once. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
stuck here until at least closing sorry

Derek's phone buzzed on its own, this time. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
do not declare bros saturday over and kick everyone out this is the first bros saturday you've ever had off you should hang

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
If you aren't coming home until after six, they can go to Scott's. 

**_From: Stiles_**  
come on think how many points you could win w scott right now

They were all watching him again, waiting to see what he would do.

Why couldn't he have been stuck with Erica, Lydia, and Allison? He knew how to hang out with women, he wasn't as clear on the particulars of group male bonding. 

"Fine, but the first one to spill anything on the couch gets kicked out immediately," Derek said, sending a quick text to Stiles and pocketing his phone. 

Scott looked surprised. No one else did; they just went back to the game, as if it had been a foregone conclusion that Derek would let them stay. 

"You need to get more chairs," Isaac said from the floor, stealing the chips from Boyd. 

Stiles was ridiculously pleased when he got home and everyone was still there. Most likely he was just pleased Derek hadn't killed any of his annoying friends, it had been touch and go at times. 

"Hey," Stiles said, sitting on the arm of the couch and ducking his head for a quick kiss hello. "What'd I miss?"

"Not much," Derek said. 

Stiles was skeptical. "Not much?"

"Game was boring, pizza was adequate, now you're all caught up," Boyd said. 

"We were thinking about introducing Derek to your X-Box," Isaac said. 

Stiles laughed. Danny frowned at him, then at Derek, instantly suspicious. 

"Oh," Stiles said, belatedly catching on to the fact that they were serious. He glanced at Derek, who tried to communicate with a single glare that he and Scott had spent an hour convincing Boyd, Isaac and Danny that Derek had never played a first-person shooter before. "Good luck with that, guys, Derek is allergic to video games."

At least he was a half-decent liar when the situation called for it. 

"Are we doing teams? I'm on Derek's team," Stiles said. 

Still not great at subtlety, though. 

*

"Happy Valentine's Day," Stiles said, and pulled his shirt off. 

"I got you a card," Derek said, his belt buckle clanking as his jeans hit the ground. 

"A card, like, a Hallmark card?" Stiles tried to picture Derek picking out a card and couldn't do it. "Should I open the card first, or can I skip right to," and he shoved Derek, catching him by surprise. Derek fell back onto the bed, eyebrows climbing. He was getting hard just from Stiles pushing him around, so Stiles didn't think the eyebrows were an objection. 

"You can skip it," Derek said. 

Stiles kicked off his boxers and gestured for Derek to slide to the edge of the bed, which was the right height for him to fuck Derek standing up. 

"Any special requests? We could make a list."

"I recall something about blowjobs on demand," Derek said. Possibly Stiles had been a little overenthusiastic when he'd sold Derek on the idea of a holiday sex weekend at a B&B.

"That isn't a special request." Stiles tossed the condoms and lube onto the bedspread. "Anything else?"

"I don't care, whatever you want to do," Derek said. 

Stiles thought about that while he opened Derek up, fingers pressing into him at just the right angle to make pull quiet, encouraging sounds from him. What _did_ Stiles want to do? Being safely away from their friends and families for the weekend had sounded exciting enough that he hadn't made any more specific plans, which probably said something about how crowded their lives were. 

Special requests, special requests. He didn't — oh. Huh. He had a tie in his bag. It was supposed to be for dinner, but maybe he could get Derek to tie him to the bed. They hadn't done _that_ yet. He wasn't even sure Derek would be into that, but he could ask. 

"Any time now," Derek said pointedly, twisting the sheets between his fingers. 

"Patience, try it," Stiles said, grabbing a condom off the bed. "I got distracted, thinking about what you said."

Derek raised his eyebrows again. "Come up with anything?" 

"I'll tell you later," Stiles said. He didn't feel like putting the brakes on to have a _so I was thinking about light bondage_ conversation. There'd be plenty of time for that, say, after dinner. 

"Not if you're blowing me later," Derek said. 

"We have _all day_ ," Stiles said mockingly, thoroughly enjoying Derek's scowl. That scowl wasn't quite as effective when he could hear the quickening rasp of Derek's breathing as Derek watched him slick himself up. 

To be fair, it was almost never effective, unless the intended effect was to make Stiles want to jump him. 

He pushed in slowly, or at least, he gave it a solid try. Derek wrapped both legs around Stiles' waist and pulled him in, wrenching several breathless noises out of him, for all that he'd known Derek was going to do it. 

"Bossy," Stiles said. 

"Are we still making a list? I want you to get on with it, put that on the list," Derek said. 

Stiles gave him an innocent smile and a slow, careful thrust, hands braced on the bed. He was winding Derek up on purpose, he liked it when Derek got impatient, good things happened then. 

"And I definitely want it harder than that, add that too." 

"You could have just said _harder, Stiles_. That usually works."

"Harder, Stiles," Derek said dryly. That should have been too sarcastic to be hot, but who was Stiles kidding, he found sarcasm really hot.

"Okay," he said, and dropped his hips a bit to shift the angle, slamming up into Derek. "Like that?"

Derek sucked in a shuddering breath, eyes closing. That was a yes. 

Stiles flattened his palms over Derek's shoulders and leaned his weight into them, doing his best to pin Derek to the mattress as he did what Derek wanted and gave it to him hard. Right there, right there, he thought the words were in his head until he realized Derek was saying them out loud, jerking himself in time to Stiles' thrusts. 

Derek opened his eyes and saw Stiles watching him, his hand moving faster over his dick as Stiles' fingers dug into his shoulders. 

" _Stiles_ ," Derek said, and Stiles still felt like a ridiculous narcissist for the way that went right to his dick, orgasm building. "Stiles," Derek knew exactly what he was doing, there was a hint of laughter in his voice. "St—" 

"Stop it," Stiles protested, panting too hard to laugh.

"I love you," Derek said, blowing Stiles' entire mind. He'd never said that in bed before, not once. He ticked the boxes on the list Stiles had jokingly put on the fridge, usually over breakfast, or in passing; he'd never said it during sex, while Stiles was inside him, never. 

"Shit," Stiles said shakily, and then he did start to laugh, because that was so inappropriate, why couldn't he ever respond with something appropriate? "Ah, god, I'm sorry, I love you, I love you, sorry." 

Derek grinned at him, wide and bright, and then his smile shook apart and he was coming, tightening around Stiles, so good, too good to hold back. 

Happy Valentine's Day to Stiles, seriously. All that _and_ he'd get to make fun of Derek for whatever sappy card he'd picked out, who needed flowers. 

*

When they got home the next day, Derek ticked the Valentine's Day box on Stiles' list. 

Stiles flushed, like Derek had done something dirty. They'd missed their dinner reservation and ruined both their ties, but Derek said _I love you_ and _that_ was what Stiles blushed about? 

"You never opened your card," Derek said, pulling it out of his duffel bag and handing it to Stiles. 

The outside was bright pink, with a picture of a kitten in a teacup surrounded by shiny foil hearts. The inside said in barely legible pink text on a slightly darker pink background, _Happy Valentine's Day from the cat._

"What is this," Stiles said, staring at it. 

"The most hideous card I could find," Derek said. He pointed at the top edge, which was slightly shredded and bore several teeth marks. "I had her sign it."

Stiles put the card on the fridge next to his list of holidays. 

"I want all of our friends to see how ridiculous you secretly are," Stiles said. 

"It's ironic," Derek said, eyeing the card on the fridge. 

"You had her _sign it_ ," Stiles said gleefully, giving the card a pat. "The card might be ironic, but the sentiment you totally mean, you got me a card from my cat and now everyone is going to know." 

"I hate you," Derek said. 

"That's not what I hear," Stiles said, and kissed him, arms wrapped around him, pulling him in close. 

*

Stiles had been thinking about something for a while. 

He'd been thinking about Derek's half of the bed, and Derek's half of the closet, and the way the wall next to the desk was papered with sticky notes about upcoming weddings. 

He'd been thinking about Derek's favorite mug in the dish rack, and Derek's pots hanging from the ceiling, and Derek's books on the living room shelves, mixed in with Stiles' over the course of almost nine months now. 

He'd been thinking about how freaking annoying it was when Derek's half of the bed was empty at night, and how inconvenient it was to have to make his own coffee in the morning. 

And, perhaps most importantly, he'd been thinking about the way his cat got pissed when Derek wasn't around, and the way she took it out on Stiles' couch. That shit had to stop, he wasn't going to buy a new couch just because his cat had destroyed the current one in a fit of Derek-related angst. 

Stiles wanted to ask Derek to move in. 

He didn't have a plan, but he did have a tentative date. Scott and Allison's wedding anniversary was in two weeks. If there was a better day to ask Derek to move in with him, Stiles didn't know what it was. 

*

"Oh, wow," Laura said, turning in a slow circle. Derek followed the her gaze, a smile twitching at his mouth. 

The house was done. The house had been done for a while now, but he'd kept finding things to do, trim to fix, edges to touch up. He'd found excuse after excuse not to admit that it was done, and eventually, he'd realized—

He didn't want to sell this one. 

"This place looks _great_." She brushed a hand over the wall. "I love the colors, I — wait, is this purple period appropriate?" 

"No," he admitted. "But it's your favorite."

Laura went still, fingertips pressed to the wall, her back to him. 

"I've been over every inch of this place," Derek said. "I had most of the wiring redone, I've had everything inspected twice, it's — it's the safest place to live that I could possibly give you."

She turned around, biting her lower lip so hard it looked painful. 

"I'll just be five blocks away," Derek said. He needed her to be okay with this. If she wasn't okay with it, he couldn't do it, and he was ready to move in with Stiles. He had a feeling Stiles was going to ask him soon. 

All right, he didn't have a _feeling_ so much as a gossipy blonde mole who said Stiles had been fishing for ideas on how to sell Derek on the idea of moving in with him, as though Derek needed to be convinced. That was Stiles' own fault for involving Erica in the first place.

"You pretty much live there already," Laura said, wiping at her eyes. There went his hopes of getting through this without someone crying. "And we're doing fine now. It'll be fine. I can handle living by myself."

She'd never lived by herself. She'd moved away to college, spent eight months in a dorm room with an annoying hipster-type whose name Derek didn't remember, and then there'd been the fire and the two of them living in each other's pockets for almost sixteen years. 

In all that time, Derek had never even thought about living on his own. He didn't think she'd thought about it, either. When she'd said, _I want to move back to Beacon Hills_ , she'd really meant, _I want us to move back to Beacon Hills_ , just assuming he'd go with her, because of course he would, he had. 

Everything had been a blur since then. Their lives had been quiet and insular before, and now they were busy and noisy and crowded. 

Crowded was better, even if he still didn't know what to do when Boyd's grandma brought him cookies. 

"I'll still see you all the time," he said, wondering if he should hug Laura. Hugging wasn't usually a thing they did, but if ever there was a hugging occasion, this was it. 

"It really is fine, Derek." Laura gave him a small but sincere smile. "It's not like I didn't know this was coming, I've had a while to get used to the idea. I've been expecting it since — Thanksgiving, maybe. I thought for sure you two were going to talk about it on Christmas morning, should've known it would take you until April."

"Christmas would have been a little soon, we haven't even been together for a year yet," Derek said.

"It's a year on Sunday," she said. 

"It's a year in July," he said, his eyebrows drawing together. "We weren't—"

"Oh, please," Laura said with a wet-sounding laugh, sniffling loudly as she shook her head. "Tell it to someone who wasn't there. If you had any idea what you look like when your face is doing that horribly twitterpated thing it does — I remember watching you watch Stiles at Allison's wedding and thinking, _uh-oh_. If he hadn't been so embarrassingly into you, too, I don't know what I would have done. Bought stock in whatever it is guys eat when they're pining, I guess."

Derek wouldn't have _pined_. Stiles had been a cute guy with a nice smile at Scott and Allison's wedding, that was all. 

He wouldn't have pined. 

"Okay," Laura said, rubbing her eyes again and taking a breath. "Okay. I'm happy for you, but I'm not letting you give me this house." 

"Yes you are," Derek said, too confused to come up with anything more convincing. "It's my house, and I'm giving it to you."

"You paid for all of this," she circled a finger in the air, "with Mom and Dad's money, I know you did, and I told you a long time ago I wasn't going to let you give me a penny of your half. It's yours. I'm not taking it in the form of a pretty purple house, either, so if you want me to have this place, you'll have to sell it to me." 

Derek narrowed his eyes at her, evaluating. She folded her arms. 

"We can discuss the specifics later," he said, and pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket, holding it out to her. "These are yours."

Laura took the keys from him and jingled them in her hand, looking around the room again. 

"Five blocks away, huh," she said. "Are you sure you don't have anything further away, what if I want some spa—oof." She hugged him back, patting awkwardly at his shoulders. Yeah, hugging still wasn't their thing. "Come on, give me the tour, I haven't seen the house since it looked like a drug deal waiting to happen."

"There's a deputy living right next door," Derek said. 

"That was a joke." Laura rolled her eyes. "You're not going to hover now, are you? I'll be _fine_." 

"I know you will," he said. 

*

On Sunday morning, Stiles handed Derek a cup of coffee, sat next to him on the couch, and said: 

"I'd like you to move in."

"All right," Derek said, with no change in expression whatsoever. 

"Here," Stiles said, so there weren't any misunderstandings. "With me. To live. All the time."

"Laura and I have a lease until the end of May, and then she's moving into the house on Oak," Derek said, taking a small sip of coffee. "I can start paying half then."

Well, this wasn't exactly as romantic as Stiles had pictured it. 

"Wait, Laura is — your house? Since when?" Stiles had thought Derek was getting the house ready to sell, what with all the extra work he'd been doing on it for the past couple of weeks.

"Since Erica told me you were going to ask me to move in with you," Derek said, smirking finally. 

" _Erica_ ," Stiles said. He'd sworn her to secrecy! She'd sworn! "She didn't even have any useful advice."

"I'm sitting here telling you yes, I'll move in with you, and I've already figured out the logistics," Derek pointed out. "I'd say she was pretty useful." He made a _go on_ gesture. "But don't let that stop you from trying to convince me."

"No, the moment's gone." Stiles sat back, absently drumming his fingers on his legs while he tried to regroup. "So what do we do now?"

"Now, Laura and I box everything up, our friends make themselves useful helping us move, and you and I buy a bigger bed," Derek said. "Laura is already staking claims to things with post-it notes, but there isn't much I want, so she can—"

" _Now_ ," Stiles interrupted, gesturing at the two of them. "Right now, what do we do?"

Derek shrugged. "What did you think we would do?"

"Argue about it until you agreed, and then have sex," Stiles said. 

"We could still have sex," Derek said. 

"Maybe in a minute," Stiles said. Without a good argumentative warm-up, he wasn't feeling it just yet. 

"I could make pancakes," Derek said. 

"Yeah, okay." Stiles followed him up off the couch, pausing in the doorway into the kitchen. "Wait, did I just take pancakes over sex?"

Derek ignored that. "Plain or blueberry?"

"Plain," Stiles said. "I did, I — wow. I think we're getting boring." He scratched at his jaw. "Are we getting boring?"

"It's been less than five minutes since I agreed to move in," Derek said, shooting him an exasperated look as he got a pan down off the rack. "Are you really going to have this crisis already?"

"It happened really fast," Stiles said.

"Sometimes I wonder why I love you," Derek said. 

Stiles went over to the fridge, grabbed a pen off the top, and ticked the box next to _anniversary._

"I'm not sure that counts," Derek said. 

"The _I love you_ or the anniversary?"

"Either."

Everyone said their relationship anniversary was April, not July, because their friends — and families — were saps who thought they knew better than Derek and Stiles did. Stiles had been arguing this point with Scott for a week and a half. 

"I'm succumbing to peer pressure," Stiles said. "Happy anniversary. I'll get you a card in July."

"I'm not getting you a card," Derek said. 

"Who needs another card when I have this one?" Stiles gestured at the teacup cat and foil hearts. "I'm thinking of having it framed. If you wanted to get me something to mark the occasion, you could tell me your favorite wedding song."

That caught Derek by surprise. Did he think Stiles had forgotten? Of course Stiles hadn't forgotten, he'd just been waiting for the right moment. 

"No," Derek said. 

Stiles hadn't been expecting that. "No?"

"No," Derek said, turning back to the pancake batter. "You're already convinced we're boring. Think of it as me leaving a little mystery in the relationship."

"But you are going to tell me eventually, right," Stiles said. 

"Maybe," Derek said. 

"You suck," Stiles informed him. 

"Not until after breakfast," Derek said. "Happy anniversary." 


	7. Remodeling

There was a long, narrow room off the living room that Stiles had never found a use for. When he'd moved back to Beacon Hills two years ago, he'd left the room empty for a while; after he'd adopted the cat, he'd more or less let her have it. The room had held her cat tree and an endlessly growing collection of noisy ball toys, and that was it. 

Stiles and Derek stood inside the doorway, staring at the clutter of boxes and furniture that filled the room from wall to wall. 

"I think we need to have an _un_ packing party," Stiles said. 

"It can wait a couple days," Derek said. 

"No, you live here now, your stuff should live here now too." Stiles waved a hand at all of it. "And some of this you'll need."

"Everything essential was already here." Derek shrugged. "The rest can wait."

"Okay, but on Friday I'm making your sister come over to help, and we're going to get this _done_ ," Stiles said. He had no idea where they were going to put everything, but they'd figure it out. 

"I think Lydia is coming in on Friday," Derek said. 

"Thursday, then," Stiles said. "Definitely Thursday."

*

"I can't Thursday," Laura said, when Derek saw her the next morning at brunch. 

"Maybe next week," he said, not all that concerned. Packing had been hellish; he wasn't in a rush to do it all over again in reverse. 

*

"The cat has started using your belongings as a jungle gym," Stiles reported a week later, head in Derek's lap while he made Scott a friendship bracelet. He hadn't made one of these since he was twelve, it was more complicated than he remembered. "She—" 

There was a noisy scramble of cat paws over cardboard, and then a series of thumps. 

"She still thinks it's her playroom." Stiles tried to gesture at the doorway and make tiny knots in Scott's _dude, remember when these were cool_ bracelet at the same time. "She's going to start using your boxes as scratching pads soon." 

"We'll get to it next weekend," Derek said. 

"Yeah," Stiles said, squinting at the threads strung between his fingers. "Next weekend." 

*

In early May, Stiles set a large cardboard box on the kitchen table in front of Derek, almost spilling his morning coffee. 

"One box," he said. "Just one. We can do this." 

Derek tilted his head sideways to read Laura's writing on the box. _Kitchen._ That should be easy enough. 

"If we do one a day, it won't take us that long to finish," Stiles said, sounding like he was quoting someone. Melissa, maybe, that sounded like Melissa. 

They unpacked the box onto the table, surveyed the available amount of storage space, and sat back down, fresh cups of coffee in hand. 

Derek had meant it when he'd told Stiles the essentials had already been here. Date night dinners, Thanksgiving, Christmas — the kitchen cupboards and drawers were already packed full of things that had migrated over from Derek and Laura's kitchen, things Derek had bought new. The kitchen supplies left in boxes were the kinds of overly specific things people accumulated and never used, and there was nowhere to put any of it. 

"We need more storage space," Stiles said. "Which is impressive, given how many cabinets there are and how little kitchen stuff I have. I'm impressed."

"We could remodel," Derek said. If they opened up the weirdly spacious pantry, that would create a lot of floor space. "Tear out the pantry walls and—" He grabbed a napkin and a pen, making a rough sketch. "Hmm."

"Isn't remodeling against your philosophy? If you tear down one of the original walls, are you going to break out in hives?" 

"This is the house I live in, not a restoration project," Derek said, making a note on the napkin. "I'm not going to break out in hives because the current floor plan doesn't suit our needs." 

"The rest of my life is going to be one long series of home improvement projects, isn't it," Stiles said, watching Derek with his chin propped on his hand. 

"We don't have to," Derek said, pen paused over the napkin.

"We really do." Stiles flicked a finger at the edge of Derek's napkin sketch. "It's only been a month since Laura moved into the Oak house, and you're already driving me crazy with your _but now I have nothing to fix_ boredom. Remodel something, _please_." 

"I'm not _bored_ ," Derek said. 

He was _incredibly_ bored; there was a fine distinction between the two. He needed a research project, something to do with his hands, anything. 

"You've been attempting to replace home repair with reruns of Magnum, P.I.," Stiles said. "Two entire seasons in the past week alone. Don't think I didn't notice." He flicked the napkin again. "That looks good. Do it."

"We could—"

"Whatever you want." Stiles made a sharp gesture, cutting him off. "Do whatever you want. It's—" He hesitated. "You live here, too, and I trust your judgment — and I want you to stop _driving me nuts_ — so do whatever you want. Awesome this place up, go for it." 

Derek could tell that Stiles meant it, but he also remembered their second date, and the way Stiles had sounded when he said, _the wallpaper stays_. 

He remodeled the kitchen. He made a side project out of custom matching the wallpaper, a few shades brighter than the walls were now, bringing the yellow up to where it would've been when Stiles' mom had picked it out. 

"Oh," Stiles said when Derek showed him a sample of the new wallpaper. That was all he ever said about it: _oh_ , voice low, shocked, like Derek had hurt him.

Then he touched the wallpaper square and gave Derek a small, lopsided smile, and they hung the new wallpaper together. Derek didn't throw the words _home repair therapy_ back at Stiles, but he thought them more than once. 

"Wallpaper is evil," Stiles said when they were done, standing in the middle of the newly spacious kitchen and glaring at the walls. "Never again."

 _Never again_ turned out to be a blanket statement on home repair; after the kitchen, Stiles kept out of the way when Derek started new projects. 

In the summer, Derek repainted the porch and hung a porch swing, Stiles planted a flat of sad-looking geraniums, and suddenly people were over all the time, because a swing and some flowers meant Stiles and Derek's house was now the place to go when their friends wanted to gather outdoors. 

In the fall, he retiled the bathroom, leveled the stairs, and opened up the narrow side room Stiles hated to make it part of the living room. Their second Thanksgiving felt less crowded than their first, for all that they had the exact same number of people. 

They also had the exact same number of pies, the exact same number of stuffing recipes, and roughly the same amount of Chris glaring at Derek while Mrs. Boyd opined on the food. 

Some things were on the fast track to becoming traditions: Stiles making Derek dress like a Hogwarts student for Halloween, Derek and Chris battling it out over Thanksgiving, Lydia and Laura burning pancakes for breakfast on Christmas morning. 

"It's nice," Stiles mumbled into Derek's shoulder on Christmas, half-awake in front of claymation reindeer as Laura swore up a storm in the kitchen. "It's part of Christmas now."

 _You have strange ideas about holiday traditions_ , Derek wanted to say, but what came out was, "love you."

"Mmhmm," Stiles said, nodding. "Wake me when the terrible food is ready." 

*

Stiles was drunk. He was perfectly, blissfully drunk, squished onto his couch between Lydia and Danny, three open bottles of champagne on the table in front of them. 

In high school, this would have been fantasy fulfillment of the highest order. The fact that he wasn't interested in kissing either of them at midnight was — sweet. He didn't want to kiss either of his high school crushes, because he had a standing arrangement for midnight kisses with his ridiculously hot boyfriend. 

Boyfriend? Partner? Boyfriend? Partner. They'd been living together for almost nine months and that very morning, they'd had an epic fight about Stiles accidentally buying the wrong kind of butter. Boyfriends were dudes you dated and wooed and made an effort for. Derek was definitely not his boyfriend. 

"Derek isn't my boyfriend," Stiles announced. 

"Oh, really," Lydia said, squinting at him. 

Stiles grinned at her, shrugging. She rolled her eyes and smacked him with one of the fancy red throw pillows she'd bought them for Christmas. 

"I know what you mean," Boyd said, passing a bottle of champagne to Isaac. The two of them were handing the bottle back and forth, the entire concept of champagne glasses having been abandoned. "I think I do. Do I? Anything you want to tell us?"

The four of them were staring at him now. Danny shifted back so he could stare at Stiles better. What was Boyd talking about? What was going on?

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Stiles said. "I meant we're past the boyfriend stage, you know? _So_ past. Do you know the last time we went on an actual date? Neither do I."

His friends relaxed, returning their attention to the champagne, the dwindling supply of tiny appetizers, and Anderson Cooper. 

"Wait," Stiles said, doing a quick headcount. "What happened to Scott and Allison?"

"I think they're ringing in the new year in your guest room," Isaac said, stuffing three cookies into his mouth at once. 

"Already?" Stiles peered at the TV. "Holy crap, it's 11:57. I need to find Derek." 

"Porch," Danny said. 

Stiles heaved himself up off the couch, grabbing a half-empty bottle of champagne off the table. Lydia caught the hem of his shirt, stopping him in mid-step. 

"If you were planning on making Derek our brother-in-law, you'd tell us, right?" 

Her mouth was curved slightly in a _just kidding_ way, but the rest of her looked dead serious. Stiles scratched at the label on the champagne with this thumb, eyeing her. 

"Derek is going to be around forever," Stiles said, eyebrows as high as he could get them. He gestured with the champagne bottle, arms spread out wide: _forever_. "Derek is it. I'm done. I hope you like him, because there will not be a new model, ever. Just Derek. So—" He shrugged, dropping his arms. "I guess as far as that goes, Derek _is_ your brother-in-law. Congrats. Congratulations."

Lydia let go of his shirt. 

"We like Derek," Isaac said. 

"I guess," Boyd said. 

"I'm not calling him my brother-in-law," Danny said. 

"Hey, that was Lydia's thing, not mine." Stiles patted Lydia on the head, slightly flattening her shiny red curls. She gave him a look like she was going to cut off his hand and feed it to him. He jerked his hand back, grimacing. "O-kay. Porch. Bye."

His friends were so weird. _Our brother-in-law_. Right, because Stiles was going to propose, or something. 

Stiles didn't feel any huge drive to get married. His dad and Melissa did fine without being married. Plenty of people did fine without being married. Mostly, marriage (the successful kind, not the forty-whatever-percent that ended in divorce) meant being stuck with someone's annoying habits until one of you — until forever, and Stiles had that already. 

If Derek wanted to do it, Stiles would do it; it didn't particularly matter to him what kind of paperwork they filed. But he didn't know if Derek wanted to. He had no idea what Derek's thoughts on marriage were, at all. Marriage was essentially the final frontier of untouched relationship topics. 

Stiles had a feeling the subject would stay that way for a while: untouched. He had no intention of being the one to raise the topic, and Derek had yet to meet a subject he couldn't avoid indefinitely. 

*

"Do you remember that conversation we had, when you made your pitch to me in New York?" 

Derek and Laura were sitting on the porch swing, taking a break from champagne and Times Square. Derek was turned sideways, knees pulled up, one arm dangling over the back of the swing. Laura was idly kicking off the ground now and then, keeping them in motion. 

The weather was unusually warm for December-almost-January. The blanket Laura had brought out was slung over the porch rail, and Derek had rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

"The conversation we had when I made my pitch," Laura repeated, brushing her hair back from her face. "You mean ... my pitch itself? That conversation?"

"After," Derek said. "When I asked you why you wanted to do this, anyway, because you hated weddings, and you said—"

"That I didn't hate weddings." Laura nodded. "Because not wanting to get married ever and hating weddings aren't the same thing."

"Do you still feel that way?" He dropped his gaze, running a hand over a tiny flaw in the varnish on the back of the swing. He couldn't actually see the flaw in the dark, with the porch light off, but he knew it was there. "That you don't ever want to get married?"

"Yes." Laura tilted her head. "Are you thinking about getting married?"

"No," he said. He wasn't. Not really. Not yet. "Maybe." He shrugged awkwardly. "Would that be so bad?" 

"Oh god, stop it with the sad voice," Laura said, and slid over on the swing, the whole thing shaking unsteadily as she hugged him, his legs squished between them. He patted her on the back a couple times, and she slid away again, steadying the swing with one foot. "What's right for you and what's right for me are two different things. If you want to get married to Stiles, I'm not going to lecture you, or judge you, or whatever it is you're thinking."

"I don't know if _Stiles_ wants to," Derek said. They hadn't talked about it at all. It hadn't even come up in jest. Given the wide range of inappropriate relationship jokes Stiles made all the time, the lack of M-word comedy had started to make Derek wonder if Stiles was avoiding the subject on purpose. 

"You won't know until you ask," Laura said, patting his arm. "Preferably on one knee. It's traditional."

"I'm not going to _propose_." Derek shook his head quickly. "I'm not doing that. I might want — I think I want to have a discussion about it, though. Later. Not right now."

"A discussion." Laura sounded terribly unimpressed. " _That's_ romantic."

"Proposals aren't romantic. Proposals are one person putting the other on the spot and demanding a yes-or-no answer, sometimes in public, with an audience. What's romantic about that?"

"So you modify your approach." Laura sat up straighter, waving a hand in a vaguely Stiles-ish way. "You say, _I love you and I want to marry you. Not a deal breaker if marriage isn't your thing, but I think it would be nice. Take some time and think it over_." 

"That's a discussion," Derek said. 

"That's a carefully worded proposal," Laura said. 

The front door swung open and Stiles came out onto the porch, an open bottle of champagne in one hand. His face was flushed in the light spilling out through the open door, eyes brighter than normal; he wasn't falling-over drunk, but he was cheerfully intoxicated, at the very least. 

"It's almost midnight," Stiles said. 

Derek checked his watch: 11:58. Laura got up off the swing, patting her vacated spot and gesturing for Stiles to take it. 

"Happy New Year, kids," Laura said, retreating into the house. 

Stiles handed Derek the bottle of champagne and poked at his legs until Derek lifted them. He stretched his legs across Stiles' lap after Stiles sat down, fitting a hand to the back of Stiles' neck. 

Derek took a long drink of champagne, head tilted back. He didn't hand the bottle to Stiles, just fumbled behind him to set it on the porch rail, carefully balanced next to Laura's abandoned blanket. 

He leaned forward, Stiles meeting him for a pleasantly unfocused, champagne-flavored kiss. 

There was a noisy chorus of voices inside the house. Derek dropped his hand to Stiles' shoulders, urging him in closer, the swing bouncing a little as Stiles lifted his feet off the ground and turned in toward Derek. 

Stiles clutched the back of the swing, laughing against Derek's cheek. 

"When we picked this thing out, we didn't take drunken porch sex into consideration," Stiles said, kissing the corner of Derek's mouth. "Short-sighted of us."

"I have no plans to ever have sex with you on our front porch, so I think it works out just fine," Derek said. 

"Is that so," Stiles said, pressing closer. Derek dropped a foot to the ground, steadying the swing. 

"It is," Derek said, willing to be persuaded otherwise. 

A car pulled up. Stiles hastily moved to the other end of the porch swing. Derek gripped the edge of the swing, taking a deep breath. 

"It's my da—" Stiles stood up, squinting at the car over the top of the hedge. "It isn't my dad. It's Deputy Erica." 

Erica walked up the porch steps, took one look at them, and stabbed a finger in their direction, hand on her hip. 

"Get a room," she said. "If I have to arrest you on freaking New Year's Eve, you will be hearing about it for years to come."

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles said.

"Happy New Year," Derek said. 

Erica blew Derek a kiss, stuck her tongue out at Stiles, and let herself into the house. 

"Hey." Stiles sat back down, nudging Derek with an elbow. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year," Derek echoed, taking Stiles' hand in his. 

"My resolution this year is to paint the bedroom," Stiles said. Derek had been leaving that project to Stiles, because the bedroom still felt like Stiles' space in a way the rest of the house didn't anymore. "What's yours?"

 _To ask you to marry me_ , Derek almost said, but it wouldn't be much of a resolution if he got it out of the way at 12:06 in the morning on January 1st. 

Besides, his resolution was to discussthe possibility of getting married. To _discuss_ it, not to propose, no matter what Laura said. 

Erica came back out of the house with a smile on her face, hair falling out of her neat bun. So she'd only dropped by to kiss Boyd, then. 

"My resolution is to introduce Erica to new movie genres," Derek said. 

"You know you love Footloose, don't lie," Erica said, bouncing down the steps on the way back to her car. 

"That wasn't what you were going to say." Stiles leaned into Derek. "What were you going to say?"

"I'll tell you later," Derek said. 

"Oh," Stiles said, his voice turned low and soft, an odd note in it. "Okay."

He leaned over Derek, jostling the swing as he grabbed the bottle of champagne off the porch rail. 

"Okay," Stiles said again, and drank the last of the champagne. He set the bottle down with a sharp _clink_ , grasped Derek's chin with one hand, and turned Derek's head for a kiss.

Derek would bring it up this year. He wasn't sure when, but that didn't matter; when the moment was right, he'd know it. 

*

Stiles and Lydia squinted at each other across the kitchen table, clutching mugs of coffee. Derek was in bed, Scott and Allison hadn't stirred yet, Erica had driven Boyd, Isaac and Danny home around 2:00, and Laura was asleep on the couch, which left Stiles and Lydia alone with their hangovers and a box of powdered donuts. 

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Lydia muttered, poking at a donut, "but I think we bought too much champagne."

"Oh, you think." There were almost a dozen empty bottles of champagne on the kitchen counter. "I don't think I've had a champagne hangover this bad since Scott's wedding."

His stomach gave a funny little lurch. Something must have shown on his face — who was he kidding, something _always_ showed on his face — because Lydia tilted her head, chin propped on her hand, and said: 

"Are you going to get sick? Do it somewhere else, if you are."

"I'm not going to get sick," he said, rubbing at the back of his head. "I—"

He hadn't _forgotten_ , exactly, it wasn't the sort of thing you forgot, but he'd done a pretty good job of putting it out of his mind temporarily. It had been that or obsess over it, and he wasn't going to obsess over something Derek didn't want to talk about yet. 

But last night, Derek—

Derek had said, _I'll tell you later_ , and rubbed Stiles' ring finger just above the third knuckle, right where a ring would be. A ring. A wedding ring. 

Stiles had grown up around law enforcement, and he wasn't an idiot; he knew a tell when he saw one — felt one, whatever. Derek hadn't realized he was doing it, Stiles was sure of that, so it wasn't a coded message or anything, but it had been pretty damned informative, just the same. And Derek had _lingered_ there, two fingers and a thumb pressed to the base of Stiles’ ring finger in a circle, not subtle at all.

He hadn't drawn attention to it. If Derek wanted to propose, if this was a thing that Derek wanted to do in his own time, Stiles would let him. He still wasn't in any rush, and it might be hilarious to see Derek sweat it out over a proposal. 

"I'm just tired," Stiles lied, and grabbed a donut. 

Lydia eyed him suspiciously, but didn't ask. It was a good thing she was hungover; she never would've let him off that easily, otherwise. 

There was a creak on the stairs. Derek came into the kitchen with the cat tucked under one arm, wearing loose plaid pajama pants and the too-small Beacon Hills Lacrosse shirt he'd stolen and never given back. 

Lydia clinked her coffee mug against Stiles', raising her eyebrows appreciatively. 

"Shut up now," Derek mumbled, dropping the cat next to her bowl. He pulled his favorite mug out of its usual spot in the dish rack without looking and poured himself a cup of coffee, drinking it at the counter with his back to them. 

"Happy New Year," Lydia said, smirking at Derek. 

Derek turned around slowly, mug still raised to his mouth, and eyed them both. 

After a moment's silence, he refilled his mug, left the kitchen, and went back upstairs, all without so much as a _good morning_. 

The cat ran after him, loudly declaring her annoyance. 

" _No_ ," Stiles heard Derek say, and the bedroom door slammed shut. 

"Wait for it," Stiles said, tapping the tabletop. Three, two, one—

The bedroom door clicked open and shut again. 

"I love him a stupid amount," Stiles sighed. 

"Bad news, Stiles," Lydia said, making a mock-sympathetic face. "I think _he_ loves that cat more than you."

"Believe me, I know," Stiles said.

*

The doorbell rang. 

That in itself was a novelty; Derek had just got around to fixing the doorbell before Halloween, and it was almost never used. More people had keys to Stiles and Derek's house than Derek was entirely comfortable with — John, Melissa, Scott, Allison, Laura and Lydia, at least — and the rest of them apparently didn't find ringing a doorbell as satisfying as loudly pounding on the door, because all of their friends were obnoxious, every last one. 

The doorbell ringing meant a delivery, or some flavor of evangelism, or — increasingly often — one of the older ladies on the street bringing over a pie in the hope that Derek would fix something for them. Derek's neighborhood reputation was _handyman who likes pie_ , now. 

He supposed there were worse reputations to have. At least the pie was usually pretty good. 

Derek opened the door, hoping for pie. 

A curly-haired blonde girl in a green sash gave him a hopeful smile, clutching a familiar-looking order form. Derek glanced past her to the sidewalk. The woman waiting a few paces back gave him a wave, and he reluctantly waved back; he vaguely recognized her from some of Allison's parties. 

"One box of Thin Mints, and that's it," Derek said, before the girl could recite her cookie-selling script. Those were the ones Stiles liked to fill the entire freezer with, one more box wouldn't kill them. 

"Oh, cool," the girl said, which was definitely off-script. 

" _Thank you, Mr. Hale_ ," the woman — her mom? — prompted. He felt a faint twinge of guilt for not remembering her name. 

"Thank you, Mr. Hale," the girl repeated. 

There. He'd bought a box of cookies from Allison's troop, he was set for the year. Last year he'd avoided cookies altogether, but maybe now he was a sufficiently known quantity for the Girl Scouts of Beacon Hills to hit him up for money. 

The next day, the doorbell rang twice. 

The day after that, three times. 

After the third Girl Scout in a row left with Derek's name on her order form, he called Allison at work. 

"Argent Fitness, this is—"

"Stop," Derek said. "Stop sending grade schoolers with order forms to my door, _stop_."

Allison laughed. 

"They're smart girls," she said, entirely unsympathetic to his cookie-buying problem. "If you keep buying a box from every Girl Scout who shows up at your door, they're going to keep showing up. If you want them to stop, tell them no."

"Can't _you_ tell them—"

"You can't tell them no, can you," she realized, and laughed again, louder. "I have to go tell this to Boyd."

"How many _are_ there?" If Allison wasn't going to help, she could at least tell him how many more cookie forms to expect. "In your troop."

"Eight," Allison said. "How many have come by so far?" 

"Six," Derek said.

"You're almost done, then," Allison said encouragingly, and laughed _again_. "I'm — I'm sorry, this is just — it's the cutest problem I've had to solve all day, I'm so glad you called. Good luck!" 

Derek glared at his phone. 

The doorbell rang. 

"I can't buy any more cookies," he tried on the tiny, green-sashed girl at his door, just to see if it would take. 

Her eyes got huge. 

"Fine," he said, caving immediately. "Thin Mints. One box." 

"Thank you, Mr. Hale," she said, suspiciously cheerful for someone who'd looked like she might cry on his porch ten seconds ago. 

Next year, Derek was going to disconnect the doorbell for the entire month of February. 

*

In March, Stiles pulled out the paint he'd bought for the bedroom. It had been sitting on a shelf for almost three years, and when he opened the first can to see what the color looked like, it both looked and smelled like curdled milk. 

"So, we need new bedroom paint," Stiles said when Derek got home and found him sitting on the porch, all the downstairs windows left open to air the place out. "I don't care what color, you pick. Anything but blue, I'm tired of blue."

"And a new bed," Derek said. 

"Oh god, yes," Stiles said, nodding quickly. Funny how things that had seemed like immediate priorities at one time or another had wound up getting put off for ages. "That can be our anniversary present. To ourselves. Each other? To each other." 

"That gives us a few weeks to finish defiling your childhood bedroom," Derek said, with what might have been a suggestive look. 

"It's been pretty thoroughly defiled," Stiles said. Even the _closet_ had been thoroughly defiled, because Stiles would go the extra mile for a joke about Derek fucking him in the closet. 

"I have some ideas," Derek said. 

Stiles _loved_ it when Derek said that. _I have ideas_ was code for _you'll barely remember your own name when I'm done with you_ 75% of the time. 

"Bedroom," Stiles said. " _Go_."

Ideas 1 - 4 were a definite success. Idea 5, contributed by Stiles — "when will we have an opportunity to _literally_ break the bed again, I say we go for it" — was terrible from the outset, so it was probably for the best that the old bed turned out to have incredibly solid construction. Nothing they did in it (or to it, when Stiles got frustrated enough to kick the bed and accuse it of ruining his ill-advised fantasies) so much as made the frame creak. 

The new bed was a king, which meant that they didn't have to squish together to sleep anymore. There was space enough for Stiles, Derek, the cat, Derek's ocean of pillows, and at least two other people; it was a bit excessive, and immediately made the bedroom that much smaller, but Stiles was committed to this whole _real adult furniture_ thing and a giant bed was a key part of that. 

Stiles experimented with really and truly having his own side of the bed. He sprawled out without touching Derek at all, rolled around some to emphasize to himself and Derek both how much more _space_ there was, and settled in on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow, silently congratulating them both on finally redoing the bedroom. 

He lay there for about half an hour, wide awake, before Derek sighed noisily and said: 

"Can we just—"

"Yes," Stiles said, sliding across the space between them to throw an arm and a leg over Derek. There, that was _much_ better. 

It was possible that they had too much bed, or that they were literally too clingy, Stiles wasn't sure which one applied. Both, maybe. They could get away with being clingy in April; as soon as the first heat wave hit, he wouldn't want Derek anywhere near his side of the bed. 

Summer was a long time off, yet. Just then it was early spring, Derek was invitingly warm, and Stiles was already half-asleep, drifting off the minute he tangled himself up with Derek again. 

*

Melissa sometimes took pity on Derek and came over to make him breakfast on her mornings off. By their second summer as neighbors, they'd reached a level of breakfast casualness that involved Melissa coming over in her pajamas and Derek not bothering to make conversation until his second cup of coffee. 

It was nice. It was _quiet_. Melissa made coffee and waffles and accepted that Derek wasn't fully human before the caffeine kicked in. She didn't poke _too_ much fun at the way his hair stood out in all directions or the fact that he'd appropriated most of Stiles' UO and UCLA T-shirts. 

She never, ever brought John to breakfast, even on John's days off. 

Derek loved Melissa.

They might have gone on with their semi-secret not-in-the-Brat-Pack-way breakfast club indefinitely if Mrs. Boyd hadn't shown up one morning unannounced, a sugar-dusted berry pie in her hands. 

"Oh, sorry, honey, I thought you'd be up by now," Mrs. Boyd said, taking in Derek's unshowered, half-caffeinated, pajama-clad state. "I had some berries about to go off, didn't want to let them go to waste."

Derek rubbed at his eyes with one hand, pie held awkwardly in the other. 

"Melissa is making waffles," he said, voice scratchy. "And there's coffee. If you want to come in."

Melissa joined him at the front door, saving him from having to come up with further unfortunate but necessary hospitality overtures at nine in the morning. 

"Oh, Abigail, it's lovely to see you," Melissa said, giving Derek a light push on the arm to get him out of the doorway. "Come in."

"I don't want to intrude," Mrs. Boyd said. 

"Not at all," Melissa said on Derek's behalf, closing the door behind Mrs. Boyd and following her into the kitchen. Derek followed after a moment, still holding the pie. "Coffee?"

Mrs. Boyd stayed for breakfast. Melissa invited her back next week, and Derek could only nod over his coffee mug; objecting would be more trouble than it was worth. 

"It was very sweet of you to invite her in," Melissa said later. If Derek had realized he was inviting Mrs. Boyd to breakfast permanently, he might've thought twice about it, but he wasn't stupid enough to say that out loud. "I think she gets lonely."

There wasn't much Derek could say to that, either. 

By mid-June, they were having breakfast with Mrs. Boyd once a week. Derek still refused to dress for company or talk before coffee, but Mrs. Boyd didn't seem to care about that a whole lot. 

Erica invited herself to breakfast exactly once. 

"Congratulations, you're one of us now," she said afterward, grimacing. "Grandma was _not_ happy about me being here." 

"I noticed," Derek said. Mrs. Boyd had been snippily polite to Erica over breakfast, which was never a good sign. "What do you mean, I'm one of you now?"

"She likes to take her grandkid time individually." Erica shrugged. "She doesn't care so much when it's me and Boyd, because we're a package deal, but if Davis intrudes on her Boyd time or the other way around, she makes her feelings known. I intruded on her Derek time." 

"I'm not her grandson," Derek said, lowering his voice, because they were only on the front porch, not anywhere particularly private. "I haven't even known her for two years yet, I don't think—"

"You're my best friend, you don't have any grandparents, she's adopted you, deal with it," Erica said. "Unless you want to go back in there and tell an eighty-year-old woman to back off."

"Breakfast and the occasional pie doesn't mean I've been _adopted_ ," Derek said, suddenly uncomfortable with the entire conversation. "You must have done something else to annoy her." 

"You're only saying that because you haven't heard her bragging about your cooking to the grocery store cashier," Erica said, shaking her head. "Stop arguing with me about this and go back to your grandma and mother-in-law breakfast, before she gets even _more_ mad at me for crashing." 

Stiles was an only child with no extended family whatsoever. How Derek had wound up as good as marrying into _this much family_ was a mystery to him. 

"You're being ridiculous," Derek said, opting for denial. "And Melissa isn't my mother-in-law, either."

"Yet," Erica said. 

Derek hadn't said a word to Erica about — anything. Not a _word_. 

"Laura told you," he said accusingly, folding his arms. 

Erica lit up. 

"No, she didn't," Erica said gleefully, clapping her hands together. "That was a shot in the dark. Really? You're really going to?" Her voice was rising in excitement, too loud, _way_ too loud. "Do you have a plan? Do you have an engagement ring or something, do guys do engagemrrf—"

Derek clapped a hand to Erica's mouth. They weren't nearly far enough away from Melissa and Mrs. Boyd to be having a secret conversation about not-proposals. 

"You can't tell _anyone_ ," he hissed. 

Erica yanked his hand away from her mouth. "Not a soul, I swear." 

"Not even Boyd," he said. 

"Unfair," she said, relenting when he only glared at her. "Okay, not even Boyd. When are you going to do it?"

Almost seven months had passed since Derek had first floated the idea past Laura. He had no idea when he was going to do it; the moment was never, _ever_ right, which he refused to take as a sign of anything. 

"I'm not sure yet," he said, skipping past the argument over whether or not bringing it up for discussion would qualify as a marriage proposal. "Before the holidays."

"This is so exciting." Erica tapped a finger against his chest. "Don't screw it up. You'll only get one shot at doing this right the first time."

"Stop trying to intimidate me," he said, unimpressed. "In fact, get off my porch, I need to go back in."

"Back to mother-in-law breakfast," Erica said. 

"She isn't—"

" _Yet_ ," Erica said, and laughed when Derek made a frantic _shut up_ gesture. "Relax. Not a soul, I swear."

When Derek went back inside, Melissa and Mrs. Boyd were suspiciously quiet. 

"How much did you hear," Derek said, covering his eyes with one hand. 

"Just the part about you having an engagement ring for Stiles," Mrs. Boyd said. 

"I don't have an engagement ring," Derek sighed. "I'm not _proposing_."

"It's okay, honey, we won't say anything to Stiles," Mrs. Boyd said, shooting Melissa a look that dared her to say otherwise. 

Melissa held up her hands defensively. "I want to promise, but now that I know, I give it three weeks before John figures it out, at the outside. I'll try to keep him from telling Stiles."

"I'm honestly not going to propose," Derek tried again. 

"John probably won't say anything," Melissa said, in a failed attempt to sound reassuring.

Derek was going to kill Erica. 

*

"Got any big plans for the weekend?" 

"Nope," Stiles said. "Well, unless some kind of chicken thing with mushrooms counts as a big plan, Derek has a recipe."

His dad looked amused. "Your big plan for the weekend is chicken and mushrooms?"

"Hey, this is my life now," Stiles said, spreading his arms out. "Let's face it, a big day for us is one where the cat doesn't puke in somebody's shoes, we've officially turned into the most boring couple anyone has ever met. Not that I'm complaining."

"You know what really spices things up?"

Please don't say anything about sex, please don't say anything about sex.

"Kids," his dad said. 

Holy crap, was his dad actually hitting him up for grandkids? That had never happened to Stiles before, he wasn't sure how to react. 

"I'm only twenty-seven," he said, eyes wide. 

"And I'm retiring soon," his dad said. 

"I'm not going to have kids so you can have a retirement hobby," Stiles protested. "I've only been with Derek for—" They'd celebrated their anniversary in April again, so, two years and change, not _nearly_ long enough to— "I said I wasn't complaining!" 

"But you've at least talked about it?" His dad folded his arms. "Kids?" 

"I'm only twenty-seven," Stiles repeated, which meant no, they hadn't come anywhere near talking about it. He loved Derek more than he wanted kids, but he was still going to be disappointed if Derek said no, so he'd put that conversation off until it became relevant or necessary. Which it wasn't yet, because again, _twenty-seven_. 

"That's a no," his dad said. 

"Fine, no, we haven't talked about it," Stiles said, shooting a glance at the front door, willing Melissa to emerge. She didn't. 

"Pretty big thing not to have discussed," his dad said. "Kids. Marriage."

"Yeah, we, wait, what?" Stiles _heard_ the record scratch noise his brain made at that moment. "Nobody said anything about marriage." 

"It isn't an unreasonable question, son," his dad said, which was funny, because Stiles hadn't heard an actual question in there anywhere. "Marriage is—" Stiles stared at his dad. His mouth was still moving, but all Stiles could hear was, _marriage, that blessed arrangement, that dream within a dream_. He laughed almost hysterically, scrubbing a hand through his hair. 

His dad kept going. "This isn't about the gay thing, is it?" _The gay thing_. There was no end to the number of ways in which this conversation was going to blow his mind. "There's nothing wrong with being gay married." His dad was turning into a PFLAG pamphlet gone horribly wrong, and Stiles could only watch, too fascinated and appalled to put a stop to it. "You know I support you."

This from the guy who'd once told Stiles, _you aren't gay_. Granted, that'd been eleven years ago. 

"It isn't because — no," Stiles said, covering his face with one hand. "We haven't talked about marriage, because we're happy the way we are."

He didn't tell his dad about New Year's Eve, or the way that, almost eight months later, Derek continued to unconsciously touch Stiles' ring finger (or his own) when he was thinking about — whatever he was thinking about. If he told his dad about that, his dad would be giving _Derek_ this speech next, and Stiles couldn't even begin to imagine how that would go.

"When you have kids—"

" _I'm only twenty-seven_ ," Stiles shouted. "Oh my god, why can't you get in your car and go on your vacation already, you're killing me here. What, did you just wake up this morning and decide it was a good day to angle for a son-in-law and grandkids?"

"I'd like a son-in-law and grandkids," his dad said. 

Melissa _freaking finally_ emerged from the house, dragging her suitcase behind her. She took one look at the situation unfolding in the driveway and said, exasperated: 

"I thought we agreed this was a bad idea."

"I didn't say anything," his dad protested. Lie. _Blatant lie_. He'd said all _kinds_ of things. 

"Get in the car," Melissa said. She let Stiles shove her suitcase into the trunk, hands on her hips as she glared at his dad through the window. "What did he say?" 

"He's an advocate of gay marriage and wants us to adopt hordes of children," Stiles said. "Out of _nowhere_. I have no idea where this is coming from." 

Melissa raised her eyebrows. "You have a house, a partner, and a retiring dad, and Scott and Allison aren't budging on kids for at least three more years. Do you honestly need me to explain where this is coming from?"

"I guarantee you Scott and Allison will have kids before Derek and I do," Stiles said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "If we do. _If_." 

"Derek is six years older than you," Melissa said carefully, closing the trunk. "I'm not saying you can't wait, but you should at least talk about it." 

"Enjoy your vacation," Stiles said pointedly. 

He stood in their driveway until their car was out of sight. Then he cut across the lawn and took the porch steps two at a time. 

Melissa had a point, but — if Stiles brought up kids before Derek brought up marriage — wasn't there a relevant cart/horse metaphor? Or was Stiles _supposed_ to bring up kids before Derek brought up marriage? This was one of those key issues people were supposed to discuss with their partners before they decided whether or not to get married, wasn't it. Stiles was flexible on this particular issue, but that wasn't a free pass to keep avoiding it entirely. 

Crap. Melissa was right. Stiles should talk to Derek. 

Some of the websites Stiles had read before his first date with Derek had suggested views on children as a first date topic, but Stiles had decided those websites were trying to lead him horribly astray. Maybe he should've made a list of _way too soon_ topics and given himself a deadline on them — say, before they'd been together long enough for marriage to be a viable option. 

When Stiles let himself back into the house, Derek was standing at the kitchen counter in a tank top and boxers, dumping bacon onto a plate. Stiles had had detailed fantasies about hot guys making him bacon, pre-Derek. Now, it was just a fact of life. 

Later. Stiles would bring it up later. He wasn't going to complicate Hot Guy Bacon Hour with serious relationship discussions.

*

"My dad hit me up for grandkids today," Stiles said, stretched out alongside Derek in the dark. 

So this was what had been keeping Stiles awake for hours. He'd been vibrating with so much nervous energy that Derek hadn't been able to get to sleep, either; another half-hour of waiting for him to spit it out, and Derek would've left to crash on the couch. 

"Hit you up for grandkids?" John had figured it out, hadn't he. If Melissa's three week estimate had held true, that meant John had lasted all of two days before approaching Stiles. "What exactly did he say?"

"That he supports gay marriage, and wants a — wants grandkids," Stiles said. 

Derek just barely resisted the urge to bury his face in a pillow. _Christ_. He was going to yell at Erica so fucking much, again. 

"What did you tell him?" Derek tried to sound casual.

"I told him I was only twenty-seven, and we hadn't talked about kids at all yet," Stiles said. 

So the kids part was the one Stiles was focusing on, then. Derek didn't know how to interpret that, and decided not to bother trying to interpret it at all. 

Derek knew Stiles wanted kids, even if Stiles had never said as much directly. He knew for a fact that Stiles had once discussed with Erica whether their imaginary future kids should be Stilinski-Hales, Stilinskis, or Hales; that conversation had happened right before Stiles had figured out that anything he said to Erica would get right back to Derek within twenty-four hours. 

He supposed knowing what Stiles wanted because Erica had said so wasn't the same thing as him and Stiles discussing it themselves. 

"Do you want kids?" Derek ought to rat Erica out — she deserved it — but if he said, _we can skip this part, I already know you've been picking out surnames for our imaginary children_ , that would only get _him_ in trouble. 

"I," Stiles took a deep breath. "I, yeah, I do, I'd like that, someday. But if you don't — if you don't, it isn't the end of the world, I'm not—"

"I want kids," Derek said. His feelings on the issue were a bit more complicated than that, a tangled mess of wanting a family and being stomach-twistingly afraid of how many ways he could possibly screw up the lives of people who may or may not even exist yet. The tipping point was Stiles, was this: "I want to raise them with you. Someday."

No one said anything for a while. Stiles' breathing was so quiet and even that Derek was starting to wonder if he'd fallen asleep when Stiles took his hand, lacing their fingers. 

"Okay," Stiles said. "Then we'll do that. Someday."

That was an incredibly momentous life decision to make at three o'clock in the morning. It didn't _feel_ momentous — thanks, Erica — but it was, and Derek could only squeeze Stiles' hand, not sure what to say. 

_Let's get married._ That was what he _should_ say. This was as good an opening as any: _maybe we should get married, adopting will be easier if we're married._

If he brought it up now ... after _let's raise a family together_ , a marriage discussion was going to be a little anticlimactic. That wasn't how he wanted it to go. He could wait. 

Maybe it would sound less anticlimactic tomorrow. 

*

"What are you doing?" Allison tried to get a look at Stiles' screen. "Does that say — Stiles, is there something you want to tell us?"

Scott and Boyd looked up from shooting things. Scott hit pause. 

"What does it say?" Scott shifted like he was going to get up and peer at Stiles' screen, too. 

Stiles pulled his tablet in against his chest. 

"Nothing that would interest you," he said, waving a hand to indicate they should go back to their game. 

"That means it's good," Boyd said, looking at Allison. "Spill."

"I saw the phrase _gay parenting_ ," Allison said. "And the cover of that children's book about gay penguin dads." 

Scott's eyes widened. "Stiles?"

"What, the gay penguins are adorable," Stiles said. Allison nudged him with her elbow. "Derek and I talked about it last night and we want kids, eventually. Not immediately! Eventually. I'm just making myself a reading list." 

"When you say eventually," Allison said, "do you mean _in the distant future we'll revisit the idea_ , or _we're starting the paperwork now and it'll go through eventually?_ "

Stiles elbowed her back, sharper. "I mean _eventually_. Everyone is in such a rush, what the hell, you guys."

"Damn straight I'm in a rush," Boyd said, grinning at him. "If you could come up with a baby or two, it might make Grandma back off _me_ for a while."

"And Mom," Scott said.

"And Dad," Allison added. 

"Melissa I get, but how this impacts Chris and Boyd's grandma I do not understand," Stiles said, eyeing them. 

"Grandma is baby-crazy," Boyd said. "If Derek had a baby, she'd be all _about_ that."

"Dad doesn't like babies," Allison chimed in. "I think he's forgotten that because everyone else wants grandkids, so now he does, too. But if _you_ start bringing a baby around, maybe he'll remember he doesn't like them very much."

"That line of reasoning could backfire on you," Stiles said. 

"You haven't seen my dad with a baby," Allison said, wrinkling her nose. 

**_To: Derek_**  
if you could save me from more baby pressure that would be great

 ** _From: Derek_**  
More? Who now?

 ** _To: Derek_**  
allison boyd and scott

Stiles glared at all three of them. Scott and Boyd had already turned back toward the TV, and didn't notice his glare; Allison just grinned at him, making a _I'm too cute to be annoying_ face. 

**_From: Derek_**  
That's your own fault for telling them. 

**_To: Derek_**  
I didn't tell them anything, they saw the books on my tablet

 ** _From: Derek_**  
What books?

 ** _To: Derek_**  
I made myself a parenting reading list

 ** _From: Derek_**  
Already?

 ** _From: Derek_**  
What am I saying, of course you did. 

**_From: Derek_**  
Don't be late for dinner because you got caught up in a parenting book. 

**_To: Derek_**  
I'm out of here in an hour I swear

"I hate to break it to you guys, but _eventually_ means _eventually_. All of you will probably have kids before I do, so looking to me to get you off the hook is incredibly misguided." Stiles pocketed his phone and tapped at his tablet, bringing up the children's book about gay penguins. 

Allison pulled out her phone. 

"Who are you texting?" Stiles was instantly suspicious.

"Lydia," Allison said. "Lydia gets to know, doesn't she?"

"Laura is visiting Lydia this weekend," Stiles said, making a grab for Allison's phone. "If you tell Lydia, Laura will know immediately, and this is definitely something Laura and Derek should discuss on their own." 

"Too late," Allison said, biting her lip. 

"One day, we're going to have news we get to share with people ourselves," Stiles said. Boyd shot him a _good luck with that_ look. 

**_From: Laura_**  
Dibs on being the wacky but loveable spinster aunt. 

*

 ** _From: Laura_**  
Did you do it?

 ** _To: Laura_**  
Do what?

 ** _From: Laura_**  
Lydia got a text from Allison about all the Stilinski-Hales in our future. Why are you talking kids? Did you propose?

 ** _To: Laura_**  
How many times do I have to say I'm not going to propose? 

**_From: Laura_**  
At least one more. So you didn't do it?

Derek hesitated. 

**_To: Laura_**  
Not yet. Tonight, maybe. 

**_From: Laura_**  
I haven't been this excited about something since the Atomic Kitten reunion tour. 

**_To: Laura_**  
Go away.

 ** _From: Laura_**  
Good luck!

Derek looked up from his phone, taking a deep breath. 

"Let's get married," he said. 

The cat flicked an ear back, unimpressed. 

"I think we should get married," Derek tried again. "I want to get married, do you want to get married? How do you feel about marriage? No, not marriage in general, _us_ , me and you, how do you feel about — maybe we should — _dammit_."

He was terrible at this. Why was he terrible at this? They were as committed as two people could get without filing a joint tax return; Stiles had never voiced any particular objections to marriage; even if Stiles said no, all that meant was continuing on the way they were, and the way they were was great. There was nothing scary here, no big looming question marks. 

He just wanted it to be — nice. Erica had only been screwing with him before, but he couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. He was only going to get to do this once. He didn't want to mess it up. 

" _Will you marry me_ is too—" Derek scowled at the cat. "I just want to have a discussion about it, that isn't the same thing as a proposal."

The cat yawned, flopping over onto her side and batting at his hand. 

"You are so unhelpful," Derek muttered. This was what he got for trying out his marriage discussion openers on a cat.

When Stiles got home from Scott's, Derek was going to bring it up. Over dinner, or after. It couldn't be _this_ hard. All he had to do was say, _pass the parmesan, and let's talk about the idea of getting married. For or against?_

Except not that. Not even slightly that. God, he _sucked_ at this, he was _awful_. 

"I love you," he tried. Oh, that was better, good start. "And I already know we're going to spend the rest of our lives together." _Yes_ , he was on a roll now. "But there are certain legal benefits to—" No, too dry. "But I would like it if—" _Like?_ He talked about pie with more emotion than this. "I love you. And..." 

Shit. Laura was right. No matter what he said, it was going to be a carefully worded proposal; this wasn't _let's explore our respective views on marriage_ , it was _I want to marry you, do you want to marry me?_ He was going to propose. 

He _hated_ it when Laura was right. 

Did that mean he had to get down on one knee? No, definitely not, he wasn't doing that. Not if he wasn't sure of Stiles' answer. 

What _should_ he do? Should he put out candles or something? No, a half-assed attempt at creating a romantic mood would be self-defeating. Wine? No, Stiles was a cheap date when it came to wine and Derek couldn't propose if Stiles was at all drunk. 

Cake. He should have cake. Stiles liked cake and only ever bought pie, because that was what Derek preferred. Derek needed to run to the store for tomatoes anyway, he could get some of the tiny vanilla cupcakes Stiles liked while he was out. 

**_To: Stiles_**  
Do you need anything from the store? 

**_From: Stiles_**  
nope

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
laura won't stop texting me about our imaginary future children

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
did you know she has really strong opinions about children's programming?

 ** _To: Stiles_**  
Yes.

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
now she's texting me the lyrics to the fraggle rock song one sentence at a time

 ** _From: Stiles_**  
make her stop

Derek smiled, sticking his phone in his pocket and grabbing his keys off the table. 

*

The windows were dark when Stiles pulled up to the house. Derek's car wasn't in the driveway. Stiles checked the time: quarter to nine. Hadn't Derek said dinner at nine? 

"Hello?" Stiles called out as he walked in. The house was silent. 

Stiles walked through the house turning on lights, dropped his keys on the kitchen table, and pulled out his phone. Maybe Derek had run into someone at the grocery store. If he'd run into Boyd's grandma, there was no telling how late he'd be; they'd be better off giving up on chicken-mushroom-whatever and ordering a pizza. 

Stiles tried calling him. The line rang through to voicemail, three times in a row. 

**_To: Derek_**  
how much later are you going to be? should I order a pizza? 

He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, waiting for a response. After five minutes, he tried calling again. 

"This is Derek. Leave a message." Not the most personable voicemail greeting ever. He hardly ever heard it — they weren't voicemail people, Stiles almost never checked his — but now that he'd heard it four times in eight minutes, he was going to make Derek change it to something friendlier. _You've reached Derek Hale, please leave a message after the beep_ , that sort of thing. Just one _please_ , that was all Stiles wanted. 

He tried Derek again. 

He tried Derek again. 

**_To: Derek_**  
hey asshole, call me back before I sic the sheriff's office on you

 ** _To: Derek_**  
you don't want erica pulling you over tonight do you

Half an hour went by. 

Stiles sat at the kitchen table with his phone in his hand and his knuckles pressed to his mouth, a jittery, anxious feeling crawling down his spine. 

If Derek were running late, he would've texted or called. There was no good reason Stiles could think of why he wouldn't. Derek's phone had to be on; if it were off, it would be going directly to voicemail. 

Derek wasn't all _that_ late. Stiles was overreacting. 

A car pulled up in the driveway, headlights flashing past the front windows. For a moment Stiles relaxed, the worst of his tension draining away. Then it caught up to him that he wasn't hearing Derek's car at all; that sounded more like his dad's cruiser. 

There was a deputy in the driveway. 

The doorbell rang. 

Stiles felt a strange, full-body rush of terrified anticipation, like the handful of seconds at the top of a rollercoaster right before the drop. 

He forced himself to get up and go into the front hall, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. He couldn't. He couldn't, because if someone had been sent to the house to notify him — if everything was about to change, he didn't want to know. If he never opened the door, he'd never have to know. 

It didn't work like that, _life_ didn't work like that, but he couldn't make himself open the door.

"Stiles," Erica called through the door, her voice calm, professional. "Please open the door."

He turned the lock and pulled the door open, gaze zeroing in on her face, searching for a sign of what was coming next. She even _looked_ calm and professional; he couldn't get a read on her at all. 

"Is he dead?" Some small part of him registered that _is he dead_ had to be the worst greeting he'd ever given. Straight to number one. "Is he—"

"He isn't dead," Erica said, a subtle hesitance in her voice that he interpreted as, _that I'm aware of_. "He was in a car accident, they took him to Beacon Hills Hospital. I don't know how bad — how he is. I'm going to take you to the hospital, okay?" 

"Okay," he echoed, and just stood there in the doorway, not sure what to do next. 

Erica sighed, passing a hand over her face. "Where are your keys and your phone?" 

"Kitchen," he said. She brushed past him, disappearing into the kitchen. He heard the jingle of keys, and then the dry clink of cat food being poured into a bowl. Good call, he wasn't sure how long he'd be at the hospital, wouldn't want the cat to starve, Derek would be pissed. 

There was the drop, sudden and sharp, his chest tightening, hands shaking. 

"Oh shit," Stiles said. He fought to take a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Erica reappeared with his keys dangling from her hand, her eyes widening when she saw him. "I don't know what — what should I — someone should call Laura." 

"Someone is probably calling her right now," Erica said, hovering awkwardly, like she wasn't sure if she should touch him or not. "She's still listed as his emergency contact."

"I'm not." The rush felt different this time, hot anger instead of cold terror. "I'm not on any of his paperwork, we never filed anything, we — fuck, they aren't going to tell me anything, are they?" They'd been so _stupid_ , he was so goddamned _angry_. "Laura isn't even in town, this, _fuck_."

His phone buzzed in Erica's hand. 

"It's Laura," Erica said, holding the phone out. "Come on, you can talk to her in the car."

Stiles clutched the phone as he got into Erica's cruiser, just barely remembering to hit the button to answer the call. 

"Hello?" He sounded terrified. "What's going on?" 

There was a pause, and a scuffle, and then Lydia's voice. 

"Derek was in an accident," Lydia said, brisk, efficient. "He's at Beacon Hills Hospital right now. We're on our way, but it'll take us a couple hours to get there."

"I know," he said, trying to match her calm tone. Everyone was so fucking calm. He remembered being thirteen and _hating_ when people were calm at him. He'd always thought in retrospect that it'd been a teenager thing, but no, he felt it now too, panicked anger that needed an outlet and didn't have one. "I know about the accident, Erica came and got me and we're on our way, tell me how he is." 

"He hit his head in the crash." That could mean any number of things. "He was unconscious when the paramedics got there. He woke up in the ambulance and recognized one of the paramedics. He was able to answer basic questions. That's all the information I have right now. He could be fine, Stiles." 

"Yeah," he said. He'd heard that one before. "You'll call me when you hear anything else?"

"The second we hear anything, I promise," Lydia said, and then, sharper: "do _not_ start researching traumatic brain injuries on your phone, or so help me god, I will kill you myself." 

Stiles _hated_ it when she pulled that freaky I've-known-you-forever mind-reading shit. 

"I like to be well informed," he muttered. 

"You won't be informed, you'll only be freaked out." She sighed. "More freaked out. Promise me." 

"All right, I won't," he said, hating her a little. 

"I called Scott, he and Allison are going to meet you at the hospital. We'll be there soon. Put Erica on."

"She's driving, that would be illegal," Stiles said, eyeing Erica. 

Erica put her hand out for the phone. Stiles handed it to her grudgingly. 

"All right," Erica said, and then, after a pause: "All right. I can't — fine. _Fine_. Bye."

Well, that was informative.

They pulled up at the emergency entrance to the hospital. 

"I'll come back when I can," Erica said quietly, handing his phone back to him. Her cool professionalism had lasted exactly until they were within sight of the hospital; now she was visibly fraying around the edges, trying to hold it together and failing, a little. 

Wow, did Stiles _ever_ need to be out of this car. 

"Thanks," he said. That was inadequate, but she just nodded, hands tight over the steering wheel. 

Scott and Allison were waiting out front, near the sliding doors. They hurried forward as Stiles got out of Erica's cruiser, Allison reaching out to put an arm around him. 

"I'm fine," Stiles said firmly, so they were all clear on this. "I'm fine, Derek is going to be fine, everything is fine." Absolutely everything. He'd accept nothing less. "You guys don't need to baby-sit me, if you want to head home that's cool, it isn't going to be very exciting in there. It could be a lot of worry for nothing." 

"I know," Allison said, squeezing his shoulders. "But we're going to go in with you anyway."

"I called my mom," Scott said, sounding horribly worried. Worried for _Derek_ , Scott didn't even _like_ Derek. Okay, that was unfair, Scott _hadn't_ liked Derek, they got along now, but still, this level of concern would be touching if Stiles could process it without losing his shit. "They're on their way back." 

"It could be nothing," Stiles repeated. 

He kept telling himself that; no one would tell him anything else. All Stiles could do was sit in the tiniest waiting room known to man and, well, wait, and wait and wait. 

He'd finally settled into that calm state that had been pissing him off earlier. He felt quiet, placid, repressing it all so perfectly that there weren't even ripples on the surface. 

There was no way anything was going to be seriously wrong with Derek. Stiles had over a dozen parenting books on his tablet and he hadn't even had time to _look_ at most of them yet. Derek was going to be fine, because Stiles had fallen asleep last night knowing he and Derek were going to be someone's dads someday. He wasn't going to wake up tomorrow and not have Derek at all. That wasn't going to happen. 

He was going to be stuck with that pissy face Derek made when Stiles put his feet on the table until they were very, very old. 

Allison's phone rang, startling all three of them. 

"It's Erica," she said, standing to go out into the hall. Stiles watched her through the glass, twisting his fingers together and wondering why the hell Erica hadn't called _him_ , what she could possibly have to say that she didn't want him to hear. 

Scott took one of Stiles' hands in his, stilling the anxious movements of his fingers. Maybe it should have felt weird, holding hands with Scott, but Stiles held on almost too hard. He wasn't worried. He wasn't. He just didn't feel like letting go of Scott any time soon. 

Allison came back in, tucking her phone into her pocket. 

"She can't come wait with us right now," she said, sitting on the other side of Stiles, taking his other hand. "She'll come as soon as she can. We thought it would be best if everyone else stays home for now, but they'll come if you want them to."

 _There's no reason for everyone to come down, it'll be fine_ , Stiles wanted to say, but he couldn't make himself say it this time. 

"What aren't you telling me?" He searched her expression for clues. "She's at the scene, isn't she?"

Allison hesitated, glancing at Scott. 

"Please, just tell me," Stiles said, pulling his hand out of her grip. "How bad?"

"His car is totaled," Allison said quietly. "She sounded pretty upset." 

Stiles tapped his phone, pulling up a search window. 

"What are you doing?" Scott leaned in, peering at his screen. 

"Looking up safety ratings," Stiles said, his hands shaking less now that he had something to focus on. He wasn't going to think about the Camaro at all — at _all_ — but he could at least start planning ahead. "His next car is going to be something ugly and practical with an incredibly high safety score. He doesn't get a say in it."

"In a really bright color, he'll hate that," Scott said. 

"Canary yellow," Stiles said, nudging Scott's knee with his as a silent _thank you_. 

"Lime green," Scott said.

Stiles was still looking at safety ratings almost an hour later when Laura called, a picture of an electric blue Ford disappearing behind the caller ID. 

"Hey," Stiles said, aiming for casual. 

"It's good news," Laura said. Stiles' vision blurred immediately, which was stupid, she'd said _good news_ , he wasn't going to cry about good news. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, trying to keep himself under control. "He has a broken arm and a concussion. You can see him soon. We're still about half an hour away."

"A concussion, what does that mean, are—" he cleared his throat, trying to sound less overwhelmed. "Are they admitting him?"

"He can go home tonight," Laura said. "He'll need to be observed at home, but we can — and we have Melissa. He can go home. The doctor I spoke to said he got lucky."

Stiles didn't know why that winded him, all the air squeezed out of him at once, his face crumpling under his hand. He didn't know why, didn't understand himself at all, but he was crying so hard he couldn't talk, could barely breathe. 

He didn't realize his dad had come into the waiting room until he was being pulled into a hug, his dad crouched down in front of Stiles' chair. He clutched at his dad, fisting a hand in the back of his shirt; someone had taken his phone, he wasn't sure when that had happened. 

"Derek is going to be okay," Allison said. Stiles' dad exhaled sharply, and Stiles realized then how it must have looked, him crying like that when his dad had walked in. "They aren't keeping him overnight." 

"I was so scared," Stiles heard himself telling his dad, the words spilling out of him without his permission. "I came home and the whole house was dark and he'd been so insistent about me being home by nine, and then Erica came and I thought — I thought someone was coming to tell me that—" 

"It's all right," his dad said, rubbing his back soothingly. 

"I'm sorry I ruined your vacation," Stiles said. Dammit, why couldn't he stop _crying?_ Derek was going to be _fine_. 

"It's all right," his dad repeated, firmer. "Nowhere else I need to be right now."

"If—"

"Don't," his dad said. "Don't do that to yourself. Derek is going to be fine, that's all that matters right now."

That was easier said than done. Stiles couldn't stop imagining how things could have gone differently, awful, nauseating scenarios so vivid he didn't feel entirely convinced that Derek was fine after all. 

All this, and he'd only had a few shocked, incoherent minutes since Laura's call. There was no telling what his imagination would come up with by tomorrow.

*

Derek paid for his groceries, reached for the bags, and an EMT leaned over him, asking him his name. 

His tongue felt too thick in his mouth and he tasted blood. His attempt to say his own name was slurred, confused. 

"I know you," he said to the EMT, trying to bring her into focus. 

"Can you tell me where you know me from?"

Derek thought about that for a moment, the world rocking a little, swaying to one side, turning a corner. He was in an ambulance; he hadn't noticed that before, everything was processing so _slowly_. 

Brunette EMT. Brunette paramedic? Brunette paramedic whose fiancé worked at Beacon Hills High with Danny. Hah, he had it. 

"Shania Twain," he said. That had been her first dance, Shania Twain. 

An unfamiliar male voice repeated, "Shania Twain?"

"He was the DJ at my wedding," she said, and smiled down at Derek. "Good memory."

"Can you tell me the date?"

He wasn't in the ambulance anymore. A doctor was standing over him. Two doctors. Two? Two very similar-looking doctors in identical poses, so maybe he was seeing one doctor twice. 

"July 10th," Derek said. That was apparently the right answer, because no one seemed alarmed. "I need to call home, I think I missed dinner." 

"They're calling your family right now," one of the doctors said, too patiently, like Derek had said that at least once before. The other doctor's mouth didn't move, which was creepy until Derek realized there really were two of them, two different doctors. 

One of the doctors left; the other one stayed to ask him a truly obnoxious number of questions. What's your name, where were you born, what's the date, what did I just ask you — that one a lot, _can you tell me what I just asked you_.

Things came into focus slowly. Time stopped skipping forward. He had the worst headache of his life and his left arm was definitely broken, but he knew where he was and how he'd gotten there and the fog had mostly lifted; this was better, even if it hurt like hell. 

He was poked and prodded and scanned a couple different ways. A doctor with curly blonde hair set his arm, and she was familiar too, in a different way than the paramedic; he didn't think he'd worked her wedding, but he knew her somehow, he was sure he did. 

"I know you," he said, giving up on figuring it out on his own. "Where do I know you from?" 

"You tell me," she said. She didn't look up from the bandages she was wrapping around his arm, but she raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response. 

He sighed. "Is this another test? Maybe I wouldn't remember you even if I hadn't just been in a car accident. Maybe you aren't that memorable."

"Maybe," she said, not reacting at all to him being an asshole. 

"I don't—" Derek squinted at her again. The hair, he remembered the hair. "Your daughter is a Girl Scout." 

"See, I knew I was memorable," she said, smiling. 

"I still have Thin Mints in my freezer," he said. She laughed, because _she_ wasn't the one constantly dealing with cookie boxes falling out of the freezer in July. "Is there anyone else here I know? Should I expect more recognition tests?" 

"Karen in obstetrics has a daughter in the same troop, but I doubt you'll wind up there today," she said. 

"I was in a car wreck and you're giving me obstetrics humor," Derek said. 

"Great, isn't it," she said. 

When he thought about the alternative, yeah, it was, it was _great_. 

"I'm not buying any cookies next year," he said, because he wasn't going to get sentimental with a Girl Scout mom he barely knew. "I have plans to disconnect my doorbell."

"There's a flaw in your plan," she said, shaking her head. "My daughter knows how to knock."

"I want a new doctor," he muttered. 

"We're almost done, and then you can see Stiles," she said. _Stiles_ must have been the magic word, because the pain in Derek's arm and head receded for a few seconds. "I hear you have quite the entourage waiting for you downstairs."

"I missed dinner," Derek said, because he'd fixated on that before the fog had lifted and now it was the first inane thing that came to mind. It was starting to hit him: how worried Stiles and Laura must have been, how _close_ it must have been. He didn't know all of the details yet, only that someone had hit him running a red light, but he was in the hospital with stitches in his face and a cast drying on his arm; his car couldn't be looking too good, either. 

"I don't think he'll care about dinner," she said. 

"I was going to propose," Derek said. He wasn't sure why he'd told her that. 

"I read in a magazine that summer proposals are usually spring weddings," she said, instead of _sucks about the rotten timing_ or _there's still plenty of time to propose_ or anything he might have reasonably expected someone to say in response to _I was going to propose, but I was in a car wreck instead_. "Oh, wait, here." She reached across the table, grabbed a magazine out of a stack, and handed it to him. 

"Martha Stewart Weddings," he said, giving her an incredulous look. "Seriously?"

"Someone left that here yesterday," she said, shrugging. "Take it with you. Apparently purple weddings are popular right now."

"Lots of things are popular that I have no intention of bringing into my wedding," Derek said. Cupcake cakes. Yellow gold. Butterfly Kisses. " _If_ he says yes."

"Whatever you say, Groomzilla," she said, inspecting his cast. 

He _definitely_ wasn't buying any cookies next year. 

*

Derek was sitting on the edge of a bed in the ER, a dark blue cast on his left arm, an open magazine balanced on his right hand. Stiles had to stop and take him in, the _fact_ of him: alive, breathing, upright, _reading a freaking magazine_. If it weren't for the cast, Stiles wouldn't be able to tell that anything terrible and nerve-wracking had happened at all. 

Then Derek looked up, saw him, and smiled, and Stiles saw the rest of it. Derek _looked_ like he'd hit his head against a car window. He had a small constellation of tiny cuts and scrapes along the left side of his face, only one long gash deep enough to have required stitches, and his skin had the sort of angry coloring that promised spectacular bruises in a day or two. 

"Hi," Derek said, watching him. Derek set the magazine down and lifted his good hand, holding it out. "Come on, come here, I'm fine." 

Stiles made himself walk over and take Derek's hand. He brushed his thumb across Derek's knuckles, thinking over and over, _be cool, be cool._ He wasn't going to lose his shit _again_ when Derek was right in front of him and holding his hand. He was moving on from the emotional overload portion of the night, he was. 

"Your car is totaled," Stiles said quietly. 

"Sorry about dinner," Derek said, giving him half a smile. 

" _Don't_." Stiles let go of Derek, taking a step back and tucking his hands under his arms. "Don't make jokes, you didn't — _you didn't come home_ , I thought — Christ. And Laura is on all your paperwork, she wasn't even in _town_ , I—"

"I'm sorry," Derek said. He hardly ever apologized, and Stiles couldn't even enjoy it, that was hideously unfair. "I didn't think about it, I didn't think we'd need it." 

"I was so pissed off," Stiles said, lowering his voice. He knew better than to attract the attention of the nurses, but he could still shout at Derek in a whisper. "And I was scared out of my mind."

"It wasn't my fault," Derek pointed out, sounding tired now. "He ran a red light, I never even saw—"

Stiles pressed a fist to his mouth, eyes wet. Derek wrapped his fingers around Stiles' wrist, pulling his hand down, holding on. 

"I'm fine," he said again. "Stiles, look at me, I'm fine."

"I've never been so grateful for that hard head of yours," Stiles said, voice too uneven for it to sound like a joke. "The driver's side airbags didn't deploy. There is no end to the number of people I'm going to sue." 

"Hey." Derek squeezed Stiles' fingers. "I love you."

"I," Stiles said, and swallowed hard. "I love — Martha Stewart Weddings?" 

Derek froze, fingers tightening around Stiles' wrist for a moment before he looked down at the magazine open on his lap. 

"I ran into Angela Meyers," Derek said, his ears turning bright red. "She — I needed something to read, it's — professional interest." 

"Ran into Angela Meyers," Stiles said. He had no idea who Angela Meyers was. "Literally?"

"She did my cast," Derek said, lifting his left arm. 

"Good color, much classier than the bright green I had in high school," Stiles said, desperate to keep the conversation away from bridal magazines, marriage, or anything related. 

Derek nodded slowly, took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders. His grip on Stiles' left hand shifted, and there was the tell again, the same tell, fingertips brushing against the base of Stiles' ring finger.

"Stiles," Derek said, equal parts uncertain and determined. 

Oh, shit. No. _No way_. 

Derek's eyes widened, his mouth snapping shut. 

Had Stiles said that out loud? 

"I didn't mean—" Stiles scrubbed a hand through his hair, horribly frustrated. "I just — please don't ask me." 

"All right," Derek said, guarded now, his grip on Stiles loosening. 

"Not like this," Stiles said. "I'm not going to let some drunk asshole take credit for us getting married, no."

"I don't want to marry you because I got hurt," Derek said. "I've wanted to ask you for months."

 _I know_ , Stiles didn't say. _I've known the whole time_. 

If Derek had asked Stiles to marry him yesterday, Stiles would have said yes. If Derek asked him a week from now, he would say yes. Today, he didn't want to say yes. Not today, not here, standing next to Derek's hospital bed. _Not in a hospital_ , he couldn't. 

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know, I need to think about this, I need—" He needed a buffer between the accident and the next step. He needed— "I need a pros and cons list."

"Okay." Derek relaxed, the wary twist of his mouth easing. Yeah, blurting out _oh shit, no way_ when his concussed partner had tried to propose to him wasn't the most awesome thing Stiles had ever done. 

"I mean it," Stiles said, carefully averting his eyes from the stitches and the cast and all of it so that he didn't blurt out anything else, like _what kind of idiot proposes in an ER_ or _I'm sorry I'm such an asshole_ or _yes_. "Pros and cons. I'm thinking this through." 

"Okay," Derek said again, smiling at him. 

"I may gather outside opinions," Stiles said. Scott. Lydia. Danny. Everyone, he was going to ask everyone. 

"Okay." Derek cupped his right hand to Stiles' face and kissed him. "Show me your list when you're done." 

"I will," Stiles said. 

"Derek?" Stiles turned to see Laura coming toward them, wringing her hands together as she walked. Stiles kissed the right corner of Derek's mouth, ran a hand down his arm, and stepped back. 

"I'll be right around the corner," Stiles said, and then, because his imagination hadn't stopped running wild yet and even just stepping out of Derek's line of sight felt like tempting fate a little: "I love you."

He stopped and looked back before he turned the corner. Laura was clutching Derek, shaking like she was crying. Derek had both arms around her, cast and all, and he was saying something that looked like _I'm sorry_. 

Stiles needed this night to be over. He needed to be at home with Derek in their unnecessarily large bed. He needed to sleep so deeply he didn't dream at all, and then he needed to wake up in the morning and have Derek within easy reach. 

He wasn't going to get everything he wanted — there was no way he was going to sleep tonight, for one — but at least they'd be home soon, both of them. 

*

Laura cried and hugged him and _cried_. 

Derek only got through it by reminding himself that if things had been worse (if, if), she wouldn't have been alone. Three years ago, there wouldn't have been anyone to catch her, but now she had Stiles and Lydia and Allison, a whole network of over-invested people who cared about her. She had people looking out for her now; she would have been okay. 

Erica didn't cry, but she was strange around him, wary. He'd expected her to call him a jerk and act dismissive of his various aches and pains, maybe to threaten him with Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights or something terrible like that. Instead, she gingerly touched his cast and talked in a wavering voice about how far past salvage his car was, about the spiderweb of cracks in the driver's side window where his head had impacted. 

"I put down some food for your cat," she said at one point, and then her eyes got suspiciously shiny and she left abruptly without saying another word. 

John hugged him and gently ruffled his hair. 

"It's called a hug, son," John said when Derek only stood there, frozen. John had never hugged him before, had never called him _son_ in the same wry, comfortable way he said it to Stiles. Derek patted John on the back a few times with his right hand, which was good enough to get John to let him go. 

By the time Derek left the hospital, he was completely exhausted. He couldn't tell which one was more tiring: being in a serious car wreck or dealing with other people's feelings about it. At least Stiles hadn't cried, though that had almost been worse. Derek might've preferred some tears to the careful way Stiles had held himself in the ER, the distance he'd tried to keep between them. 

He couldn't even escape the concerned horde at home, not at first: Melissa came over to keep an eye on him, Laura set up camp on the couch, and Lydia — Derek had no idea why the hell Lydia was there, but she stayed for _days_. 

Derek was tired and sore and cranky as hell and he wanted everyone to go _away_.

Everyone but Stiles. Stiles was too far away, even in the same room. Stiles was quiet, and unusually distant, and Derek had no idea what was going on in his head, none at all. 

"I'm fine," Derek said the night after the accident, curled up around Stiles in bed. "I'm right here."

"I know." Stiles lightly tapped two fingers against Derek's cast. "I know. But every time I close my eyes, I'm right back where — when I thought you were—" He sighed. "I'm trying not to."

"Just—" Derek had no idea what to tell him. He had the better end of the deal, not remembering anything; Derek was the one with the broken arm and the smashed up car, but Stiles was the one who had suddenly become silent and withdrawn. "Try to sleep."

"I'll sleep great, I have everything I need right here," Stiles said, reaching back to pat Derek's hip. "I have my human bed warmer, I have—" He stretched his arm back further. "My former cat. I have this cozy new blanket." He tugged at the quilt Mrs. Boyd had brought over that afternoon, along with three different pies and a pill organizer Derek didn't need. "I'm great. I'll sleep like a log."

"Goodnight, then," Derek said pointedly.

"Goodnight," Stiles said. A minute later, he tapped Derek's cast again and said, quieter: "I'm still gathering opinions."

Derek debated whether or not to say anything. He couldn't tell how serious Stiles was about this; he wasn't sure if this was just Stiles' way of coping with everything or if Stiles was genuinely undecided about marriage.

He cleared his throat. "How is that going?"

"I'll let you know," Stiles said. 

*

"Marriage," Stiles said, waving a hand to indicate Scott and Allison, their apartment, everything. "That's worked out pretty well for you guys, right?"

"I think so," Scott said. 

"I think so too," Allison said, smiling sweetly at Scott. Only the fact that Stiles was decidedly too old for that shit kept him from making a melodramatic gagging noise. "Why?"

"I'm conducting a two-year marriage satisfaction survey," Stiles said. Scott nodded, like that was an actual thing anyone did. Allison narrowed her eyes at Stiles. "What, I worry about you guys, I want you to be happy." 

Allison gave him a look typically reserved for kittens doing adorable things on the internet. 

"We're doing great, Stiles," she said, patting his knee. "It's sweet of you to ask."

"Any ... pros or cons, would you say?" He tried to maintain an innocent expression. Allison's eyes narrowed again. "Anything that, I guess, makes you wish you were still single? Not — not _single_ , but — unmarried. Together. I'm not saying this right." 

Allison turned to Scott, scowling. 

"You could've _asked_ ," she said. Whoops. Sorry, Scott. 

"What?" Scott gave her a baffled look. "I didn't—"

"I'm going to let you two talk this out," Stiles said, hopping up off the couch. He was such an asshole. 

He modified his approach with Boyd and Erica. 

Or at least, he tried.

"Marriage," was as much as he got out, and then Erica leaned forward, stabbing a finger at him. 

"Is great, and you should say yes," she said. 

"You know!" Stiles glared at her. Boyd raised his hands, as good as saying, _I'm not getting involved in this._

"Of course I know, who do you think you're talking to?" She stabbed her finger at him again. "Say yes."

Stiles looked at Boyd. 

"Not saying a word," Boyd said. 

"You two are utterly useless to me," Stiles said. 

" _Just say yes_ ," Erica insisted. 

Stiles' survey of married people had been mostly useless. He started his survey of unmarried people with Danny, because Danny was least likely to gossip to the others before Stiles could get to them. 

"Do you see yourself ever getting married?" 

"No," Danny said. 

"No? Never? Just no?" 

"Just no," Danny confirmed.

Stiles rolled a hand in a _go on_ gesture. "Care to expand on that?"

"Marriage is creepy, when you think about it," Danny said. 

"I don't know, maybe? I'm not going to get into that with you right now," Isaac said later that night, frowning.

"Have you _met_ my parents," Lydia said the next morning over coffee, rolling her eyes.

Danny eyed him. "What is this about? Are you thinking about proposing to Derek?" 

"Huh," Isaac said, squinting at Stiles. "Are you going to propose?"

"Derek proposed, didn't he," Lydia said. 

"You're the only one who's gotten that right so far," Stiles said to Lydia, making a frustrated gesture with his coffee mug. "Why does everyone — and by _everyone_ , I mean Danny and Isaac — expect me to propose to Derek? That's not even _slightly_ how this is happening."

"This is pointless," Lydia said matter-of-factly. "Isaac's issues with marriage have nothing to do with you. Neither do mine. If you're looking for a reason not to get married, then don't get married. If you're looking for a reason _to_ get married, then stop bothering people and just say yes."

"I can't just say yes," Stiles said, nervous energy coiling in his gut. "No one seems to get that, either, I can't just say yes, a few days ago I thought he might be dead and I can't, all right? I have to do this." 

Lydia hesitated, pursing her lips indecisively. 

"He was going to ask you, before the accident," she said. 

"I know," Stiles said, and then her words fully registered. "Wait, how do you—"

"What do you mean, you _know?_ "

"I asked you first," he said, even though they'd asked more or less at the same time. "You knew? You've known all this time, and you didn't _say anything?_ How do you even — did Derek tell you?"

" _Derek_ ," she said scornfully, flicking her hair away from her eyes to glare at him better. "Please. No, Laura told me, she—" Lydia sighed, dropping her gaze to her coffee cup. "On the way to the hospital, she said Derek was going to propose, he was going to do it when you got home." She looked intensely uncomfortable, her shoulders rising and falling awkwardly. "And then she cried for an hour. I couldn't get her to stop."

Stiles started laughing. Lydia stared at him, eyebrows climbing, but he couldn't help it; he folded his arms on the table, hid his face, and laughed, shoulders shaking with it. 

"That's awful," he said, muffled, and laughed again, starting to feel nauseated. He couldn't tell if he was laughing himself sick or if the _what the actual fuck_ of it was just hitting him in a variety of ways. He lifted his head and cleared his throat. "I didn't know he was going to propose that night. I just knew that he was thinking about it. I'd known for months, since New Year's Eve, he — you should play poker with him sometime, you'd make money hand over fist. Wait, no, that's my money too, don't ever play poker with Derek. _Fuck_." He scrubbed at his face with both hands. "I didn't know."

"Why don't you want to say yes?" Lydia patted his arm again, probably shooting for reassuring. Being trapped in a car for an hour while Laura cried must have been absolute hell for her. "You must have wanted to say yes before, if you let Derek sit on a proposal for months instead of telling him no when you figured it out."

"I did — I do want to," Stiles said. He'd had a lot of time to think it over since New Year's, and he did want to marry Derek. "I still want to. But he was going to ask me from his hospital bed with his face turning black and blue, and I—" Freaked out. He'd completely freaked out. "I'm making a pros and cons list." 

Lydia eyed him for a moment, then sighed, digging a notepad and a pen out of the purse hanging on the back of her chair. 

"All right," she said, clicking the pen. "Pros and cons, let's hear them." She drew two columns on the top page in her notepad, then scrawled on the right side, _Terrible poker face. Kind of a jerk._

"Hey," Stiles protested, making a grab for her notepad. She held it out of reach, smirking at him. "I can do this by myself."

"Obviously not," she said, adding to the right column, _stubble burn_. 

"I have a cream for that, you bought it for me," Stiles said, stretching over the table to make another grab for the notepad. "This isn't a pros and cons _of Derek_ list, it's about _marriage_ , Lydia."

"I would never marry someone that committed to a five o'clock shadow," Lydia said. 

"I thought you just said you would never marry someone, period," Stiles said. 

"Yes, well," Lydia said, adding _terrible conversationalist_ to her list. 

Stiles finally succeeded in stealing the notepad, grabbed the pen out of her hand, and tore off the top sheet, crumpling it into a ball. He drew two columns again, starting over. 

In the right column, he wrote, _weddings are hellishly expensive_. He turned the notepad around to show Lydia. 

"Laura has enough contacts around here to help you do a wedding on a budget," Lydia said, wrinkling her nose slightly on _budget_. 

_Laura will help us do it on the cheap_ , Stiles wrote on the left. 

"See, this is what I was talking about," he said, gesturing with the pen. "Keep going." 

"This is stupid," Lydia said. 

"I know," Stiles said. "But you're going to do it anyway, because you're a supportive friend."

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll help you with the planning, put that in your pros column."

_Lydia will do a lot of the work_ , he wrote on the left. After giving it some thought, he added on the right, _we'll have to let Lydia pretty much take over._

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What did you just write?"

"Nothing," he said, holding the notepad close to his chest. "Lydia will help, got it. What's next?" 

*

"Good morning," Stiles said, pressing a kiss to Derek's sleep-flattened hair on his way to the coffeemaker. "Oh, man, there's _coffee_. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to have the place to ourselves." 

"It's quieter," Derek said, looking up from his laptop. Stiles looked well-rested for the first time in days. "Sleep well?"

"Like a baby," Stiles said, then paused, twirling a teaspoon between two fingers. "Do babies sleep all that well? It — you know what, nevermind." He made a dismissive gesture with the teaspoon, dropping it into the sink. "Are you awake yet?" 

"Yes," Derek said, wondering what he needed to be awake for. "Why?"

Stiles pulled a piece of paper out from behind the toaster, unfolded it, and set it on the table next to Derek's laptop. 

"I made my pros and cons list," Stiles said. 

Derek took a deep breath and held Stiles' gaze, not looking down at the sheet of paper. 

"Let me guess," Derek said. "Pros: Scott would have to give a toast, and your dad would never give you a 'I support gay marriage' speech again. Cons: weddings are expensive, and something you got from Lydia about heteronormative conformity."

"Those were her exact words, _heteronormative conformity_ ," Stiles said. "You're good at this. But." He held up a finger. "You missed one."

"My partner is really hot and I should lock that down," Derek said, borrowing a phrase from Erica.

"My partner _is_ really hot, and I locked that down a _while_ ago," Stiles said. "Nope." He pushed his list at Derek. 

Derek had actually missed several things on Stiles' list. 

**Pro:** Lydia would do a lot of the work. **Con:** We'll have to let Lydia pretty much take over. 

**Pro:** Derek already has "creepily territorial" down to a science. The last person who used his coffee mug was never heard from again. **Con:** Danny says marriage is creepily territorial. 

**Pro:** People would stop hitting on Derek all the time if I put a ring on it. **Con:** I will definitely lose my ring at least once. 

**Pro:** I like the idea of Derek being my husband. **Con:** Do I like it too much? Will I get McCallitis and refer to him exclusively as "my husband" for weeks and never live it down?

 **Pro:** No shortage of people willing to stand up in the wedding. **Con:** Everyone wants to stand up in the wedding, we have too many friends. 

He knew which line Stiles had meant, though, because there was one entry in the pros column at the very bottom with no counterpoint, written smaller than the rest, messier, the ink darker where Stiles had pressed his pen harder to the page. 

_You'll finally have to tell me your favorite wedding song. And it had better be good, because I'm not dancing to Edwin McCain. That would be a deal breaker._

Derek spread a hand over the page, his heartbeat picking up speed. 

"Your pros outweigh your cons," he said neutrally, brushing his thumb over that last, telling line. 

"Ask me," Stiles said. 

"Why?" Derek had as good as asked him once, wasn't that enough?

"Because someday I want to tell our kids that you asked me in our kitchen and I said yes and it was all very sweet, not that you asked me from your hospital bed and I said no and then I made you wait several days while consulting all of our friends and building a list of pros and cons," Stiles said. "Ask me."

Derek took a deep breath, trying to remember what it was he'd planned on saying before. His original plan hadn't involved going down on one knee, but he hadn't been sure of Stiles' answer then and he was now, he was sure. 

He could hear Stiles telling people for years, _he sat at the kitchen table and scowled at me until I said yes. That's Derek for you. But hey, I knew romance was dead when he made me text him for three months before we could start dating, I didn't expect anything else._

Stiles wouldn't say that. Maybe.

Derek got down on one knee anyway, because he knew Stiles wouldn't be expecting it. Stiles' eyes widened, proving him right. He couldn't help a small, smug smile, and Stiles saw it and rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to say something sarcastic, probably. 

"Will you marry me," Derek said quickly, in a rush to get it out before Stiles ruined the moment.

Stiles ruined the moment anyway. "That's the best you can do?"

"Stiles," Derek sighed, shaking his head. 

"No, come on, I know you have the capability for romance, wow me," Stiles said. Derek was reasonably certain Stiles was torturing him for fun at this point, and his first impulse was to stand up and tell Stiles to take it or leave it. That was likely what Stiles was expecting him to do, and then Stiles would say, _I'll take it, I guess_ , and they would kiss, and that would be that. 

"I love you," Derek said slowly, deliberately, willing to keep trying until he got it right, because he could do romance if it meant not letting Stiles win this one. "Will you—"

He choked on a laugh. They were trying to one-up each other through a marriage proposal, that couldn't say anything healthy about either of them. 

"Derek," Stiles said, uncertain, falling silent when Derek looked up at him and smiled. 

"You're it for me," Derek said, standing and crowding Stiles in against the sink, "and not just because one else is going to be able to put up with me. You're it." 

"So are you, you're it," Stiles said, curling an arm around Derek's shoulders. 

"Even if we never get married," Derek said. 

Stiles made an exasperated gesture against Derek's back. "Did you _read_ my list, seriously—"

"Every word," Derek said. "Will you marry me?" 

"Yes, obviously it's yes, you knew it was," Stiles said, cupping a hand to Derek's jaw to hold him in place for a kiss. 

There were a lot of cons on Stiles' list. Most of them were filler, but some of them — there was no way they were going to escape Lydia helping plan their wedding, was there? At least Derek would get to rub that in her face some; he hadn't forgotten a word she'd said to him the night of Erica's wedding. 

"I don't know if this whole having a wedding thing is a great idea or an awful one," Stiles said, interrupting himself along the way with scattered kisses across Derek's jaw, trailing up toward his ear. "But it's only one day, right?"

"It's bookings and invitations and tiny, obnoxious details, it's months and months," Derek said, wrapping his good arm around Stiles and turning his face in against Stiles' shoulder, words muffled against Stiles' BHPL T-shirt. "Unless you want to elope."

The kitchen was silent as they considered it. 

"That's one of the worst ideas I've ever heard," Stiles said, sounding horribly disappointed that he couldn't find a way to justify it. "The list of people who would kill us starts with Laura and my dad and keeps on going."

"Yeah," Derek said. 

Stiles tucked a finger under Derek's chin, tilting his head up. 

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" Stiles grinned at him. "About, say, your musical tastes?"

"Still not Backstreet Boys," Derek said. 

"I never thought it was," Stiles said, sliding his arm back up and around Derek's shoulder. 

"Maybe it's Sinatra now." Derek kissed him briefly. "That's what you picked for me, maybe I shouldn't argue."

"That would be a first." Stiles dragged his fingers up into Derek's hair, which was a dirty trick specifically designed to make Derek do whatever Stiles wanted. "Come on, tell me."

Derek started to step back. Stiles tightened his grip, not letting go. 

"Wait, where are you going?"

"To my laptop," Derek said. "Unless you'd rather enjoy the mystery."

"I'd rather enjoy the mystery for at least another five minutes," Stiles said, pulling him back in. "I _was_ enjoying this snuggly moment with my fiancé. Wow, I just said that. Fiancé. Fiancé. Okay, I'll stop now, it's starting to lose any meaning, like when you say _fork_ too many times and—"

"If I don't get to move, then you'll have to wait," Derek said. 

"I can do that," Stiles said. Derek waited for it. "All right, no, I want to know, go."

Derek had the song up in less than thirty seconds. He glanced back at Stiles, hesitating. 

"This is going to be anticlimactic," he said. 

"I've been waiting for two years, of course it's going to be anticlimactic," Stiles said, waving a hand impatiently. "Just hit play."

Stiles tilted his head as the song started, listening. Derek moved back into the space he'd vacated, Stiles' arms sliding into place around him.

"Two years ago, I wouldn't have pegged you as an At Last kind of guy," Stiles said. 

"Two years ago, you didn't know I was waiting for something good to happen," Derek said, more open than he usually let himself be. 

"Yeah," Stiles said, resting his chin on Derek's shoulder. "Back then, I don't think you knew that, either."

"I knew you annoyed the crap out of me," Derek said. That wasn't strictly accurate. Everyone _else_ had annoyed the crap out of him, but Stiles — Stiles hadn't started genuinely annoying Derek until Derek was half in love with him already. 

"Some things don't change, I guess," Stiles said, amused. "So, is this it? Is this our song, our first dance, whatever?"

"If that's what you want," Derek said, shrugging. If Stiles wanted something else, Derek could probably be persuaded. 

"Done." Stiles leaned back, grinning. "Hey, we just made our first wedding decision. This is going to be a piece of cake."

"It's cute that you think that," Derek said. 

"Oh, come on," Stiles said, nudging him. "We have Laura, we have Lydia, how hard can planning a wedding possibly be?" 


	8. The Wedding Planners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to breenwolf and sweetestdrain for helping beat this chapter out of me.
> 
> Just FYI: This chapter (and the one to come after it) exists in a season two hiatus bubble. It took me so long to get here that season three is already underway, but that won't affect anything within the story.

"When I was eight, I wanted to get married at Space Mountain," Stiles said. 

He was slouched down on the couch next to Derek, his feet kicked up onto the coffee table. Derek hadn't said anything about the feet on the table thing yet, which might as well have been his engagement gift to Stiles. 

"In Disneyland?" Derek had never been to Disneyland. Space Mountain was an indoor ride on a track, wasn't it? Had eight-year-old Stiles thought he was going to get married in a rollercoaster car?

"The Martins went to Disneyland that year. Lydia didn't shut up about it for ages." Stiles tilted his head to grin up at Derek. "I was going to marry Lydia, and Lydia wanted to get married in Disneyland."

"People get married at the castle in Disneyland, not on rides," Derek said, trying not to feel jealous of an eight-year-old girl. 

"I figured that out eventually. It didn't sound nearly as exciting then." Stiles nudged Derek's knee with his. "You know a lot about Disney weddings. Anything you want to tell me?"

"Yes," Derek said, jerking his chin at the kitchen. "We're out of forks. Someone _not_ wearing a cast should do the dishes."

"Don't be like that. Our wedding can be as Disney as you want it to be." Stiles patted Derek's leg. "Mickey Mouse cake, Cinderella dress — on you, not me. I'm definitely wearing a suit, but you can wear whatever you want. Go wild." 

"I've changed my mind," Derek said. 

"Too late. You proposed, I said yes, no take-backs."

And this was the person Derek wanted to be legally bound to for the rest of his life. 

Stiles' eyes shifted back and forth, searching Derek's expression. "What are you thinking?" 

"That you're ridiculous, and I should never have helped you with your bowtie," Derek said. 

"That was your first mistake," Stiles agreed. He gave Derek a quick kiss, then stood, disappearing into the kitchen. 

Derek heard the water turn on, and then a clatter of dishes. 

"Are you—" Derek sighed, thunking his head back against the couch repeatedly. "I didn't mean _now_ , Stiles." 

"Too bad," Stiles shouted back. "Don't guilt trip me about your cast if you don't want me to fall for it. I'm going to fall for it _every time_. Your arm is in a _freaking cast_. I'm washing forks."

Derek had no idea what to say to that — _sorry_ would spark one kind of fight, _wash some plates while you're at it_ would cause another — so he stayed silent, digging the remote out of the couch cushions and turning on the TV. 

Ads. Ads. A hysterically sobbing bride in a fitting room, wearing one of the most hideous dresses Derek had ever seen. Ads. Ads. A show about wedding cakes. Why was everything about weddings? Did they _know?_

Did that wedding cake have Batman and Robin on it? Shit, Derek needed to change the channel before Stiles saw that and got ideas. 

Stiles stepped into the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, beaming. Derek hid the remote behind his leg, attempting to look innocent. 

"I just realized," Stiles said, making a quick gesture that flung suds at the walls. "This might be the first time in our entire relationship when we know something about us the grapevine doesn't." 

Derek took a moment to untangle that. "It isn't the _first_ time—"

"Everyone knew you were going to propose before I did," Stiles said, ticking things off on his fingers as he talked. "Erica knew I was going to ask you to move in before you did — Scott figured out I was in love with you _way_ before _I_ did—"

"Is your point that we have creepy friends?"

"No, dude, the point is that we've unlocked a new achievement." Stiles was incredibly pleased with himself. "Shut up and let me enjoy it." 

"I give it six hours before everyone knows," Derek said. That was being generous. 

The front door banged open.

"I brought donuts," Laura shouted. 

"Six minutes," Derek said. 

"Derek and I are engaged," Stiles called out. Laura made a sound at a pitch typically reserved for bats, flailing her way into the living room. 

Derek got to his feet barely in time to catch Laura as she hurled herself at him, staggering back a step on impact. He patted at her back with his good hand, glaring at Stiles over her shoulder. 

"I like it when you're wrong," Stiles said cheerfully, drying his hands on his shirt.

"Your wedding is going to be _beautiful_ ," Laura said, clinging to Derek. She sounded almost murderous, like she was prepared to crush him if he tried to argue with her about the beauty of his future wedding. "Your _whole lives_ are going to be beautiful."

"Are you drunk?" Stiles asked, taking a cautious step forward. 

_Help_ , Derek said with his eyes, subtly trying to free himself from Laura's grasp. 

Laura abruptly let go of Derek and swung toward Stiles, yanking him into a hug and lightly smacking him on the back of the head at the same time. 

"I'm not _drunk_ , you ass," she said, smacking him again before letting him go. "I'm happy. Have you told your dad yet?"

"You're the first to find out," Stiles said, glancing at Derek. "It only just happened, we haven't thought about telling anyone yet." 

"Telling anyone what yet?" John walked in, jerking a thumb at the front door. "Why is your door wide open?"

Laura clapped her hands together, grinning. Stiles stood there silently, mouth open slightly, looking caught out. 

"Stiles and I are engaged," Derek said. Fair was fair. 

"Huh," John said. That ... wasn't a reaction Derek had been expecting. John's gaze dropped to Derek's cast, mouth flattening out. "This isn't because of what I said, is it, or because—"

"No," Stiles said firmly, shaking his head. "Derek has been planning this for months, it just — the timing is — it's coincidental."

That must have been good enough for John; Derek was being pulled into another hug, even more awkward than the last one. He'd managed to be in a relationship with Stiles for two years without having to hug his dad, and now he'd racked up two hugs in four days. He had a feeling the accident had broken an unspoken hug barrier, and now he was fair game for the crushing, back-slapping hugs Stiles and John exchanged on a regular basis. 

"Get used to it," John said, eerily close to reading his mind. "Stilinskis hug."

Stiles — his eyes were shiny, was he tearing up? 

Was Laura _taking pictures?_ Derek was going to _kill_ her. 

"Shut it," Laura said, clicking away even as Derek and John stepped back. "You'll thank me later."

*

"Hey, what—"

"I'm getting married," Stiles announced, bouncing on his toes.

Scott made a startled noise. "Today?"

"In the _future_ ," Stiles said, rolling his eyes at Derek and gesturing at his phone. "Derek proposed." 

"Derek proposed," Scott yelled. In the distance, Allison shouted something that might have been, _I knew it!_ "That's awesome, Stiles."

"I know," Stiles said, beaming at Derek. "Your first job as best man is to bring over at least three pizzas around six o'clock. Laura is demanding we have an engagement party tonight, while Lydia is still in town."

"I'm on it," Scott said. "Cheese, veg, and meat?" 

"Perfect. See you later." Stiles hung up, pocketing his phone. 

"That's it?" Laura said, sounding hugely disappointed. "Where was the emotion? Where were the tears?" 

"We'll hug it out tonight," Stiles said, shrugging. 

"You didn't even _ask_ him to be your best man," Derek said. 

"I did!" Stiles held up both hands in protest. "I _so_ did."

Derek's eyebrows scrunched together. "When?"

"Third grade," Stiles said. Derek didn't look at all surprised. "I asked him at recess. He waited two whole hours before he said yes. That's an _eternity_ in third grade time."

Scott hadn't asked Stiles to be _his_ best man. The first time Scott had proposed to Allison, freshman year of college, he'd said to Stiles: _You have to make sure my bachelor party is epic, dude. Epic._ Stiles had correctly interpreted that to mean, _I want you to be my best man_ , and had acted accordingly, for all six days that engagement had lasted. 

The second time around — the one that had actually stuck, the one where Stiles had given a toast and Laura had taken a lot of embarrassing pictures of him crying with a glass of champagne, _that_ one — there'd been even less discussion, if any. They'd listened to mixes of Scott's wedding songs and gone to tux fittings and failed at bowties together, and it had been _understood_ that Stiles was going to be Scott's best man, because of course he was. 

Scott was a given. Laura was a given too, or so Stiles assumed. Who _else_ they asked to stand up in the wedding....

Stiles wondered if they could get away with drawing straws. 

"Maybe we should do one each," he said, absently chewing at his lower lip as he eyed Laura. "Scott and Laura, and that's it."

Derek was already shaking his head. 

"Erica too," he said. "If you want to cap it at two each, all right, but we have to have Erica too."

"Uh, yeah, okay, I'll," Stiles rocked back onto his heels, feeling uncomfortably like a captain picking teams for dodgeball. "Lydia, it has to be Lydia."

"Done," Derek said, obviously relieved. Had he thought they'd be standing up front with every last one of their friends?

"Oh, really," Laura said, folding her arms. "I don't recall _you_ asking _me_ in third grade, Derek Hale."

Derek rolled his eyes, sighing. And he said _Stiles_ was melodramatic. "Fine. Do you want to be my—" He frowned. "Best — maid of — woman—"

"Don't hurt yourself," Laura said. "Yes. Thank you for asking." 

"Best sister," Stiles suggested. 

"I'm simply the best," Laura said, grinning.

Derek threw a pillow at her. Stiles retreated into the kitchen, leaving them to their sibling bickering. 

His dad was in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, an odd smile on his face. 

"You doing okay, kid?" 

Stiles thought about it before answering, slumping back against the counter next to his dad, unconsciously mimicking his pose. Was he doing okay? He was happy. He was tired. He was sad, suddenly, standing there in his mother's kitchen without his mother in it, looking up at the yellow wallpaper painstakingly restored by the son-in-law she'd never get to meet. 

He had forks to wash, because jokes about Derek's cast weren't funny yet and probably never would be. 

Mostly, though, he was happy. 

"Yeah, I'm good," he said, smiling at his dad. "You?" 

"Yeah," his dad said, giving the countertop a fond pat. "I'm good."

*

"Oh, shit," Stiles yelled, loud enough to carry over the music and all of their noisy friends. "Who called the cops?" 

Erica! Erica was here. Erica was Derek's _favorite_. 

"Aww," Erica said, coming to a stop in front of the couch. "Who got Derek drunk?"

"We did shots," Allison said, clinking her glass against Derek's.

"I'm engaged," Derek informed Erica. She nodded seriously. Was she making fun of him? He couldn't tell. "You're going to be my bridesmaid. Grooms—"

"Bridesmaid, just go with it," Stiles said. 

Her eyes widened, mouth going slack with surprise. What, why was that surprising?

"Best friends have to, Stiles said so," Derek said. 

"You are _precious_ ," Erica said, perching on the arm of the couch and ruffling his hair. "Please tell me someone is recording this."

"All of it," Laura said. She and Lydia were sharing the loveseat. Lydia had a pen in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other, and she was making notes on wedding magazines spread out over both their laps. Laura had her camera aimed at Derek. He would have protested more, but she was so _happy_ about everything, he didn't want to ruin it. 

Laura turned her camera toward Lydia, her smile softening around the edges. Lydia looked up and smiled back, eyes crinkling, and. 

Derek was going to ask Laura about that later, when he was sober enough to handle a conversation about whether or not there was something going on between his sister and his fiancé's childhood crush. 

"Someone get me a beer," Erica demanded. "You're all too happy, I'm not drunk enough to deal with it." 

"I think she means 'congratulations,'" Danny said. 

"Wedding planning is hell, I'm not congratulating him on shit," Erica said, taking the beer Danny handed her.

"Thanks, Erica, that's encouraging," Stiles said. Where _was_ Stiles? Derek craned his neck, trying to see. Stiles gave him a wave from the kitchen doorway, grinning. He was at least as drunk as Derek, face flushed, T-shirt stained with pizza sauce along the hem.

Derek hadn't kissed him — hadn't _really_ kissed him — in four days. That needed to change. 

"Stiles and I are going upstairs," Derek said, handing his shot glass to Allison and pushing the cat off his lap as he stood. 

Stiles frowned. "We are?"

"To celebrate," Derek said. Then, in case Stiles hadn't figured it out yet: "With _sex_."

"Oh. _Oh_ ," Stiles said, ignoring his friends as they laughed at him. "Right. We'll be back." 

"No, we won't be," Derek said confidently, herding Stiles toward the stairs. 

"I just got here," Erica protested. "Can't you keep it in your pants for half an hour?"

"Nope," Derek said, giving Stiles the particular smile that meant, _in sixty seconds, you'll be naked_. 

"Nope," Stiles repeated, his voice going squeaky. "Crash wherever, guys, you know where the blankets are."

"Yeah, like we're going to stay here and listen to you two have sex," Scott said. 

"Speak for yourself," Erica said. 

"We'll be quiet," Stiles shouted down the stairs. 

"I've heard that one before," Laura yelled back. 

Derek pushed Stiles into their bedroom, slamming the door.

"Hey there," Stiles said, giving him a small, hesitant smile. "Are you serious about—"

"Sex?" Derek tugged at Stiles' messy shirt, pulling him closer. "No, I was only saying that to get away from all of Lydia's questions about color schemes."

"You know I hate it when I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not," Stiles said, squinting at him. Derek let go of Stiles' shirt to cup a hand to the back of his neck, kissing the frowning corner of his mouth, the skeptical quirk of his eyebrow. "We don't have to, if you aren't up to, um—" 

"Stiles," Derek said, quietly impatient. 

"Right," Stiles said, and pressed his lips to Derek's too gently, fingertips skating over the half-healed cuts on Derek's face. 

They kissed softly, Stiles retreating whenever Derek tried to turn it into something more interesting. Stiles undressed him at such a glacial pace that Derek retaliated by trying to yank Stiles' shirt up over his head, only to whack Stiles on the nose with his cast. 

"Ow," Stiles said, voice muffled by the hand he had pressed to his face. 

" _Dammit_ ," Derek said, taking a step back. "Sorry, I—"

"It's fine." Stiles lowered his hand, making a series of ridiculous faces as he scrunched up his nose and rolled his jaw around. "Only hurt for a second. Can we do this my way, now?" 

"That depends," Derek said, fumbling one-handed at the zipper of his own jeans. "Am I going to be naked at any point?"

"You're so impatient, jeez." Stiles batted Derek's hand away. "We're getting there." 

"Sometime this century would be nice."

"All right, all right, I'm—" Stiles yanked Derek's jeans and underwear down, then made a Vanna White gesture at Derek's dick. "Better?"

Derek pulled him back into a kiss, kicking his way out of his clothes.

"Better," he agreed. 

Stiles smiled at Derek, wariness lifting like a curtain pulled back. Derek smiled back, wincing a little when the movement pulled at his stitches, and the moment broke. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek and pressed his forehead to Derek's shoulder, taking a deep breath.

"Let's take it slow," Stiles said. "I know you know how. I've seen you go all romance and mood lighting and smooth jazz." Derek had _never_. "Okay?" 

"Okay," Derek said, letting the comment about smooth jazz go, for now. 

"Okay," Stiles repeated, lifting his head to kiss Derek's neck, his jaw, the swell of his lower lip. "Good." 

Derek let Stiles ease him down onto the bed, reaching up to circle his right arm around Stiles' neck as Stiles followed him down. It wasn't exactly the energetic, clothes-tearing engagement celebration sex Derek had envisioned four days ago, but this was good too — different, but good: Stiles touching him carefully, riding him slowly, watching Derek for signs of trouble with his lip caught between his teeth, his focus on Derek absolute. 

Derek couldn't have managed anything more athletic if he'd wanted to. He ached under the warm glow of the vodka, and he was more tired than he was willing to admit.

"We could go back down," Stiles said after, stretched out along Derek's good side. "Erica _did_ just get here, and we have an entire pizza we haven't even touched yet."

Derek didn't bother replying to that. If Stiles thought Derek was getting out of bed any time soon, he was mistaken.

"Yeah," Stiles said drowsily. "You're right. Erica can yell at us tomorrow."

*

_Congratulations, assholes_ , said the post-it note on the coffeemaker. 

Stiles peeled off the note and stuck it on the fridge, where Derek would see it later. 

"Morning," Allison said, smiling at him. She was fully dressed and halfway through a crossword puzzle, an enormous glass of juice at her elbow. Stiles hadn't lived with Allison since junior year of college, sometimes he forgot she was a terrible, awful morning person. "Isaac is asleep on the couch, and Scott went out to get us breakfast sandwiches. Everyone else went home last night." 

"Mm," Stiles said, not yet fully vocal. There was coffee in the pot already, thank god. "What, um." He eyed the stack of binders on the kitchen table. "What's all that?"

"Lydia left those." Allison tapped the binders with her pencil. "They're leftover from our wedding. And Erica's, too, I guess. She says they're homework." 

Stiles did what he'd always done with homework, and moved them to the floor, where he wouldn't have to see them until it was absolutely necessary. 

The cat hopped up onto the stack of binders, settled in on them, and started angrily washing her face, pointedly ignoring him. 

"She didn't shut up all night," Allison said, giving the cat a surprisingly evil look. "She doesn't like being locked out of your room. We thought about opening the door to let her in, but Scott was worried we would, um, interrupt."

"We must have been _really_ drunk," Stiles said, rubbing at his eyes. "Derek never sleeps through cat stuff. When we have kids, he'll be the one kicking me awake in the middle of the night because I slept through the baby crying, I can hear the arguments already."

"You guys are serious about the baby stuff, aren't you," Allison said, leaning back in her chair. "I can't picture Derek with a baby."

"Me either," Stiles admitted. His mental images of Derek and kids skipped ahead to small, upright, and impressionable, a five-year-old with Derek's special blend of quiet reserve and explosive impatience. God, the teenage years with mini-Derek were going to be _hell_.

Not that a teen mini-Stiles would be much better. Stiles' teenage years had involved a lot of chasing after whatever excitement he could find. Most of his dad's gray hair had set in after Stiles had turned sixteen. 

"Hey," Isaac said, brushing past Stiles on his way to the fridge. He took the last of the juice, grabbed a bag of grapes, and sat next to Allison at the table. "Derek still asleep?"

Stiles shrugged. When Stiles had forced himself out of bed, Derek had made an aggravated noise and pulled Stiles' pillow over his head. Asleep or not, he wasn't getting up any time soon. 

"Anything exciting happen last night?" Stiles asked, blowing on his coffee. 

Isaac and Allison traded glances, Isaac smirking into his juice. 

"Well," Allison said, twisting her fingers together, "you might've ... missed some things, but that's your own fault for going to bed early."

"Laura and Lydia hooked up over the weekend," Isaac said. 

Stiles' coffee mug hit the counter with a loud _clank_. "What?"

"That's not how I would put it _at all_ ," Allison said, glaring at Isaac. He shrugged, popping a grape into his mouth. "I think Derek's accident made them figure some things out." 

"Made them _make_ out," Isaac said, clearly enjoying the opportunity to mess with Stiles' head. "When Erica and Boyd left, they interrupted Laura and Lydia on the porch. Kissing."

Stiles stared blankly at the floor, trying to decide how he felt about Laura and Lydia being together. He wasn't surprised, not really; he'd never given it much thought, those two, but now that he did — Laura had done more than anyone to anchor Lydia to Beacon Hills over the past few years. She was the one who'd made Lydia part of their holiday traditions, the one who went out to visit Lydia most. He'd figured it was a single ladies bonding thing, but — but.

He'd been so wholly focused on his _own_ relationship for the past two years, Isaac could've married a turtle and Stiles might not have noticed.

"When you say _figured things out_ , do you mean," Stiles made a slow, wandering gesture with one arm. "Are they, is this—"

"You should talk to Lydia," Allison said firmly, watching him with her chin on her palm, mouth turned down on one side. "But ... I think it's serious."

"It's serious," Isaac said.

"Life is weird," Stiles said, scratching at the back of his head. His friend and Derek's sister. He hoped it _was_ serious, because if this turned into awkward regrets later, that might make his life hell, not to mention his wedding planning. 

And he was a jerk who couldn't just be happy his friends were figuring their shit out, great.

"You're not, um." Allison wrinkled her nose, turning to Isaac for help. Isaac ate another grape, showing no inclination to throw her a lifeline. "You used to — when Lydia would start seeing someone—"

Stiles choked on a sip of coffee. It hadn't even occurred to him to feel jealous, which was the weirdest part yet. 

"That would be a no," he said, taking another, calmer sip. "You did get the part where I'm getting married, right? We had a party and everything. Here. Last night."

"Good," Allison said, relieved. He wanted to be annoyed, but he remembered all too clearly what he'd been like back in the days when he _would've_ been jealous. His Lydia obsession hadn't been fun for anyone. "I didn't think you would be, but — good."

"You should call Lydia," Isaac said, apparently content to speak now that Allison had struggled her way through the hideously awkward part. "So she knows you aren't going to be a jerk about it." 

"It's been _years_ and I'm getting _married_ , guys," Stiles said, deciding to be annoyed after all. "Where the hell is Scott with breakfast?"

"Right here," said Scott, startling the hell out of Stiles. He was standing in the front hall, peering out into the kitchen. How long had he been there? Long enough to deliberately leave Allison hanging with the Lydia questions, Stiles was willing to bet. Or, no, knowing the two of them, they'd probably planned it that way. "Sausage and egg?"

"Two," Stiles said, holding a hand out as he approached Scott. Scott dug two sandwiches out of his bag and handed them to Stiles as a peace offering, giving him at tentative smile. "I'm going back to bed." 

Derek looked up when Stiles came in with breakfast, rubbing at his eyes. "Did you go out for those?"

"Scott did," Stiles said, sitting up against the headboard. He let Derek steal his coffee, because Stiles was that awesome. "I think the food is supposed to ease us through our freak-out, because guess what, Laura and Lydia are dating."

"I figured that out last night," Derek said, draining the mug of coffee. 

What? _When?_

"Nice of you to tell me," Stiles said, handing him one of the wrapped sandwiches. "Why does everyone think I'm going to be a jerk? I'm not going to be a jerk. I have a fiancé and he's mostly okay. I have no stake in Lydia's love life at all." He unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite, rethinking that statement. "Unless it blows up in her face and makes my married life deeply uncomfortable, then I'll care." 

"But you're not going to be a jerk about it," Derek said dryly. 

"That's not what I — come on, I _care_ ," Stiles protested. "I want her to be happy. I want Laura to be happy. You aren't worried about Laura at all?"

"I worry about Laura all the time," Derek said, giving a stiff, one-shouldered shrug. "This isn't any different."

"So you're not planning on giving Lydia the overprotective brother shake-down, or anything," Stiles said skeptically, eyeing him. 

"No," Derek said. "No plans." 

"Good," Stiles said. "That wouldn't end well." 

*

Lydia answered the door in running shorts and a tank top, hair pulled back, mp3 player in hand. 

"Laura is sleeping," she said, standing in the doorway, arms folded. He didn't think she was going to let him in. In the year Derek and Laura had lived apart, he'd never been barred from her house before. No one had ever blocked him from _Laura_ before; it was strange and new, and he didn't like it. "We didn't get back from your place until late. You should let her sleep and come back later."

"I came to talk to you," Derek said. 

Lydia walked out onto the front stoop, pulling the door shut behind her. She locked it, pausing to tuck the key into a little pouch on her arm. Lydia had a key to Laura's house. Lydia had just deliberately _locked Derek out of Laura's house_. She had to know he had a key, too, but she'd made her point. 

"Make it quick," she said, projecting indifference as she thumbed through a playlist on her iPod. "I have things to do today that don't involve macho posturing."

Lydia was the first person in the group he'd ever met and the last one he wasn't sure of, the only one left who might be Stiles' friend, not Stiles and Derek's friend. For all the time they'd spent together, Derek had a feeling that somewhere in her mind, he was still the piece that didn't fit, a clashing, outside element she wanted to control and couldn't. Their relationship had never grown beyond an unspoken truce built on mutual exasperation and bickering.

He _thought_ they were friends — not best friends, not even close friends, but _friends_ — but he wasn't positive that was true. 

In a way, that made it easier. Lydia's relationship with Laura couldn't put a strain on a friendship that wasn't already solid, and either they'd figure out how to share Laura and maybe become friends for real, or — or. 

"If you break my sister's heart, we're done," Derek said. 

Lydia looked up at him in surprise, her expression wide open, startlingly vulnerable. 

"What if she breaks _my_ heart?" Lydia asked, knuckles white around her iPod. "No one cares about _that_ , do they?" 

"A lot of people would care." He didn't bother adding, _I would care_ , even though he would, a bit; he didn't want Lydia to get hurt, but he went where Laura went. If Laura broke Lydia's heart, Derek and Lydia were done, too, just as surely. "So I hope the two of you know what the hell you're doing." 

Lydia took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and exhaled slowly, giving him a level look. 

"Allison and Scott broke up eight times, and for one of those, they were engaged. Isaac and Danny dated for a year in college, which we still don't talk about." That might explain why Derek had never heard a word about it. "Stiles had a crush on me for _years_ , and at times that was more awkward than any break-up I've ever had. Allison and Erica _hated_ each other in high school. If things don't work out between me and Laura, it won't be any worse than lots of things we handled just fine before you came along." 

She took a step toward him, glaring up at him. 

"And you don't get to say when we're _done_ ," she said, quieter, working her way up to a cold anger. "So long as you're with Stiles, we're in this for the long haul, whether you like it or not."

She hooked in her earbuds, turned her back on him, and jogged away. 

Laura's front door opened a crack. Laura peered out, rubbing at her eyes with one hand. 

"That was pathetic," she said, her voice scratchy with sleep. "I'm not even inviting you in for coffee, jackass." 

"I didn't mean," Derek said, and then stopped, altering his approach. "I wasn't—"

"I never did the big sister intimidation thing with Stiles," Laura said, curling her fingers around the edge of the door, still not opening it any further.

"That was only because you were worried that if you scared him off, I'd die alone," Derek muttered. 

"That's—" He raised his eyebrows, daring her to deny it. "—Not completely inaccurate." 

"I wasn't trying to _intimidate_ Lydia," Derek said. 

"Yeah, you were," Laura said. 

"All right, I was," Derek said, exasperated. "I was, and I'm not going to apologize. Would you let me in?" 

Laura eyed him silently, wholly unimpressed. 

"You can come over for coffee tomorrow," she decided, opening the door enough to stick an arm out and point down the street. "Today, you can go give your money to Starbucks, and drink it somewhere else." 

"I'm not sorry," Derek said stubbornly. He wasn't. Laura had never had any serious relationships before, not the way he thought this might be serious. He didn't have the slightest clue how to approach it, but he was going to do his best not to let Laura get hurt, and intimidating Lydia had been the logical first step. 

"That's why you're not invited in," Laura said, and closed the door. 

Derek had officially been banned from Laura's house twice in one day, both by Laura and Laura's girlfriend. If this was what it was going to be like to share Laura with Lydia—

Laura had been sharing Derek with Stiles for years now, and she'd never been anything but supportive. There was a slight chance that Derek needed to grow the fuck up and figure out how to be supportive, too. 

But he still wasn't sorry. 

He took out his frustration on a tall mocha, then bought a second one and took it home to Stiles. 

"Good talk?" Stiles took the coffee cup from Derek, patting the space next to him on the porch swing. 

"Lydia terrifies me," Derek said. "And I'm banned from Laura's house until tomorrow."

Stiles looked like it was actively killing him not to say _I told you so_. 

"Go ahead," Derek said, resigned. 

Stiles kissed him, cupping a hand to Derek's jaw and stroking his thumb over Derek's cheek. 

"I told you so," Stiles said, voice low and sweet, like he was whispering endearments. "I was right and you were wrong." 

Derek tried to fight back a smile and lost, mouth curving against Stiles'. Stiles laughed, leaning back to grin at Derek. 

"I know this is going to be weird as hell for you," Stiles said, tapping his fingers against Derek's jaw. "Just try not to piss off your sister, and I'll defy expectations by _not_ being a dick to Lydia, and it'll all be fine." 

Derek thought Stiles was right. Again. 

Maybe it was the possessive way Lydia had held Laura's key, or the intensity with which she'd said, _we're in this for the long haul_ , but somehow, knowing it would be fine was even scarier than thinking it was all going to end in tears.

*

"Hey," Stiles called out, tossing his keys on the kitchen table and flipping through the mail. "Have you had dinner yet?"

"Derek made chicken salad, it's in the fridge," Erica called out. Erica? What was she doing over on a Tuesday night? Stiles abandoned the mail, wandering into the mostly dark living room. 

Derek had sunk as far down as he could go on the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, a bottle of beer balanced on his chest. He was staring at the TV with a horrified, trainwreck fascination, eyebrows drawn together, knuckles pressed to his cheek. 

"When it comes to pain and suffering, she's right up there with Elizabeth Taylor," Dolly Parton said on the TV. Dolly Parton was on their television. 

"What are you _watching_ ," Stiles said, walking in front of the couch to grab a stack of DVDs off the coffee table. Erica shooed him out of the way. Derek didn't so much as glance in Stiles' direction. 

"This is Steel Magnolias, cretin," Erica said. "We're having wedding movie night." 

Stiles translated that to: Erica had used her unholy BFF powers over Derek to make him watch wedding movies, and now he'd fallen into a Julia Roberts hole and couldn't get out. The Runaway Bride. Father of the Bride. The Wedding Date. Mamma Mia, that one had _singing_. 

"How is Steel Magnolias a wedding movie, I thought that was about—"

" _Not another word_ ," Erica said, sounding downright homicidal. 

Stiles looked at the TV, looked at Derek pretending not to enjoy sappy movies, looked back at the TV, and shook his head. 

**_To: Scott_**  
what are you doing

**_From: Scott_**  
laura and allison drank a bottle of wine and now allison is teaching laura mario kart

**_To: Scott_**  
on my way

"I'm going to Scott's," Stiles said, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss Derek's forehead. Derek reached up to brush his fingertips against Stiles' neck, as much of a greeting as Stiles was apparently going to get when he was competing with Dolly Parton. "Text me when you recover from ... whatever this is."

Derek tilted his head back, giving Stiles a small, self-satisfied smile. 

"Erica said if I watched three of these movies, she'd mail all of our invitations," Derek said. 

Suddenly, Derek and Dolly made a lot more sense. 

"Way to sacrifice for the cause, man," Stiles said, kissing Derek's forehead again. "I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Get out," Erica said, shoving at Stiles' shoulder. "Your wrong opinions aren't wanted here."

"I'm going, I'm going." Stiles backed up toward the hallway, clutching at his chest. "I love you. Good luck. You can do it."

" _Goodbye, Stiles_ ," Erica yelled. 

*

The thing was—

All of those stupid wedding movies, all of those long-suffering women and their excited parents, controlling parents, happy parents — it wasn't something Derek had been actively thinking about, but it was maybe something Derek had been actively _not_ thinking about. 

Erica took a long, careful look at Derek halfway through the second movie, hit stop, and got up to change the disc. 

"This one is more our speed," she said, dropping back down onto the couch.

"This is Flashdance," Derek said flatly, five seconds in. 

"Worse, it's _your copy_ of Flashdance," Erica said, waving a hand at the DVD shelf on the far wall. 

Most of her dance movies were on that shelf. Derek had been forced to go out and rent movies for her one too many times, so now he was prepared, that was all. That didn't make it _his_ movie, it only meant — it meant Erica usually got her way and there wasn't much point in arguing about it. 

Derek sighed, taking a long, disgruntled drink of beer. "You're still doing the invitations."

"We'll see," Erica said. "Shut up, my movie is on." 

*

"Crimson and royal blue," Stiles said, reading from Lydia's binder of color swatches. 

"No."

"Canary yellow and indigo."

"No."

"Dove gray and salmon pink."

"You're making that up," Derek said. Stiles held up the color swatches, pointing. Derek squinted at the page, then at Stiles. "No."

Stiles flipped to the next tab, the one marked _possible sites_. The top page was for the conference center a ways out of town near the highway, where Deaton had his reception. Stiles recognized a picture of the goldfish pond where Derek and Allison had drunk-bonded. 

"Does this bring back memories?" Stiles asked, turning the binder toward Derek again. 

"Memories of the wedding I worked there last week, yes," Derek said. 

"We don't even need Lydia's wedding site notes." Stiles flipped the page. The printout for the hotel Scott and Allison had been married at was marked up with out of date prices. Their rates hadn't been too bad two and a half years ago, and Stiles had had pretty good luck there; maybe they should do the wedding at the hotel. "You already know the pros and cons of all of these places."

The page for Erica's reception hall was marked **_CHEAP_** in Lydia's handwriting. 

"We could do it there," Stiles said, tapping the page. "We started dating there. We had our first kiss there, it'd be—"

"Hot," Derek said. "The air conditioning is terrible."

"Oh." Stiles thought back. "Yeah, I guess Erica's wedding was pretty warm. That was July, though, April wouldn't be so bad."

Derek glanced up at Stiles. "April?"

"We need to keep our anniversaries together, I read it in your wedding magazine." Derek snorted. "We met in April. We moved in together in April. We should get married in April, that's the month we do things."

"Assuming everything isn't booked up already," Derek said, because he liked to rain on Stiles' parade whenever possible. 

Stiles snapped the binder shut. 

"Hotel," he said firmly. "We can have the ceremony in the garden like Scott and Allison did. Then no one has to move their car. And we can get a room upstairs, for, you know." He paused for dramatic effect. "The wedding night."

"Think, Stiles," Derek said, tapping the table for emphasis. "What happened to Scott and Allison when _they_ booked a room at the hotel for _their_ wedding night?"

"Sex," Stiles said. Then he did stop to think about it, and, oh, right. "After they got rid of the goat we put in their room." 

"Our hotel room will be out of town, and we aren't going to tell anyone where it is," Derek said, going back to his laptop. He was working on the playlist for some hippie couple's vow renewal. Maybe? Or was this the retirement party for the ancient lecturer dude at BHCC? Admittedly, Stiles hadn't been listening earlier when Derek had talked about whatever event this was. 

"Is it weird?" Stiles sat back, pushing the binder away. "Planning a wedding and going to weddings all the time? Is it too much wedding?"

"There's always too much wedding," Derek muttered. 

That wasn't what Stiles had wanted to hear. Derek was the one who'd wanted to have a wedding in the first place; Stiles at least wanted him to enjoy the stupid thing. 

"We could still elope," Stiles said. "Or just fill out the paperwork and go out for ice cream after, whatever. If this is going to suck for you, I don't want to do it."

Derek flattened his hands out over his keyboard, staring hard at the laptop screen.

"I want to do it," he said slowly, carefully weighing each word. "But I wish I didn't have to deal with other weddings, too. It feels like another job."

That was the closest Derek had ever come to saying he wanted to leave Laura's events business. It wasn't a huge secret that Derek didn't love his job — that was one of the first things Stiles had ever figured out about Derek, day one — but Derek saw leaving the business as abandoning Laura, and Stiles had known better than to rock that boat. 

If Derek was starting to consider it on his own, though—

Stiles drummed his fingers nervously on the tabletop, opening and closing his mouth a few times before settling on what he wanted to say. 

"You could ask Laura to have someone fill in for you while we're doing this," Stiles said, deciding to start small. 

"There's no one else," Derek said, shaking his head. 

" _You_ learned how to do it. Someone else could, too." Stiles shrugged, deliberately casual. "Something to think about." 

Derek made a neutral noise, pulling his headphones up over his ears. 

Stiles wasn't fooled; Derek was thinking it over, he could tell. Derek might actually do this. He might quit working for Laura. 

Stiles wasn't sure how many more major life changes one summer could handle. 

*

"Hey, guys, look who I ran into," Isaac said. Derek kept reading his brunch menu; almost everyone he knew was there, crammed in around a long table, same as every Sunday morning. "You remember Claire, right?"

Derek didn't know any Claires. He glanced up to double-check. The brunette next to Isaac gave Derek a blank smile, clearly not recognizing him, either. Before his time, then. 

"Oh, yeah, Claire," Stiles said cluelessly, waving. "Nice to see you."

Claire narrowed her eyes at Stiles, not buying it. 

"You're kidding me," she said, shaking her head. "You really don't remember me?"

" _I_ remember you," Erica said a little too gleefully, waving. "We never met. I'm Erica."

Claire sat down next to Derek, making him slide his chair over until it bumped into Stiles', their elbows knocking together as Stiles reached for his water glass.

"Are you with Stiles?" Claire eyed Derek with more interest than she was giving the rest of the table. "Last time I saw Stiles, he was dating his phone. I didn't know he was into _people_."

Stiles made a choked noise, comprehension dawning. 

" _Claire_ ," he said, leaning back to hide behind Derek. 

"He remembers," she said, rolling her eyes. "I was starting to wonder if you've chased off a lot of Isaac's dates that way." 

Derek glanced at Stiles, then back at Claire. "What way?"

"He poured a glass of juice all over me. Isaac, gentleman that he is, gave me some napkins, suggested I go home, and never called," Claire said, studying the menu. "I think I'll have the blueberry pancakes."

Isaac looked like he was regretting all of his life decisions at once. Everyone else was hiding behind their menus, Erica's shoulders shaking with silent laughter. 

Wait, wait, Derek remembered this. That was when he'd asked Stiles out on their first date.

"That was my fault," he said. "I asked Stiles out on a date, that's why he spilled his juice." 

Claire shot him a disbelieving look. "Wait, you're Text Guy?"

"Text Guy," Erica repeated, lowering her menu to smirk at Derek. "That's nicer than some of the things we called you."

"Hot DJ," Danny contributed. 

"Asshole DJ who won't just ask Stiles out on a date," Isaac offered. "That one was Scott's."

Scott shrugged, unapologetic. 

"So you two have been together for two years?" Claire put down her menu, sighing. "Awesome. _So_ awesome. Stiles was _dating his phone_ and _fell out of his chair_ , and _I'm_ the one who got dumped while covered in orange juice."

"That _is_ awful," Erica said. "Isaac definitely owes you one. Brunch is on him, get whatever you want. This place does mimosas by the pitcher."

Claire glanced at Derek. "If I throw a glass of orange juice on Stiles, will you dump him, to make it even?" 

"Hey," Stiles protested. 

"I'm stuck with him, sorry," Derek told her. "We're getting married."

"Of course you are," Claire said, gesturing for the waiter. "We're going to need three pitchers of mimosas and five of whatever your most expensive appetizer is." 

"I think I love you," Erica said. 

*

"You're good to go, Groomzilla." 

"Stiles and his friend have done all the planning so far," Derek said, inspecting his newly cast-free arm. It felt strange to the touch, and there was a definite smell. There was a shower in his immediate future.

"Oh?" Dr. Angela clicked off her pen and pocketed it, smiling. "What happened to 'there will be no purple in my wedding'?" 

"Lydia banned purple before I could. She says it's a gay wedding cliché." That alone made Derek sorely tempted to work purple in somehow, just because Lydia had said no. "Stiles booked the location. I haven't done anything." _So there_ , he didn't add. 

"Give it time," she said, mock-sympathetically. "You'll have your moment of completely irrational wedding meltdown yet."

"Tell me I don't have to see you again," Derek said. 

She laughed. "Only during cookie season and the odd party at Allison's, I promise."

"No more cookies," Derek reminded her. September, and there were still Thin Mints in his freezer. _September_. Never again. 

"Whatever you say," she said. 

Derek wondered if he could get Allison to dump the Girl Scouts as her wedding present to him and Stiles. Probably not, but it might be worth a try. 

*

"What is this," Derek said, staring at the car in the driveway like he'd never seen a car before. 

"Your new car!" Stiles threw his arms wide open, enthusiastically gesturing at the car. "Danny knows a guy, I got a deal on it."

"My new car," Derek repeated, voice flat. That particular tone usually meant they were about to have a very loud fight. Stiles hoped his dad and Melissa weren't home. 

"Yep." Stiles lovingly stroked the hood of the car. "I thought about getting you a Jeep — I had one in high school, you wouldn't _believe_ some of the stuff I put that car through — but the safety ratings weren't great. So—"

"So you bought me a Volvo." Derek turned his incredibly unimpressed stare on Stiles. "You bought my next car without asking me anything about what I wanted?" 

"At least I didn't get it in electric blue," Stiles said, refusing to be the one to get the fight rolling. "I know it isn't _as_ flashy as your last car—" Derek smirked, shaking his head. Okay, maybe Stiles _was_ going to start the fight, because screw this. "Scott helped me pick it out on my phone while we were sitting in the hospital waiting room. Do you want me to tell you about side impact test scores, or do you want to take the keys and get in the goddamned car?" 

Derek took the keys. 

Stiles knew all he'd managed to do was postpone the fight until later, but hey, Derek was in the car, a temporary victory was still a victory. 

**_To: Laura_**  
just watched derek drive off in the volvo

**_From: Laura_**  
How mad was he?

**_To: Laura_**  
he wasn't happy

**_From: Laura_**  
Told you. 

**_To: Laura_**  
he's driving it anyway

**_From: Laura_**  
If you told him to drive a clown car, I'll bet he would.

**_To: Laura_**  
no teasing him about the car until I'm sure he won't try to get rid of it somehow

**_From: Laura_**  
No promises.

**_To: Laura_**  
NO TEASING

**_From: Laura_**  
Fine, jeez. 

Stiles gave it three days before she started teasing Derek, tops. 

*

"I'm grateful for Derek's Volvo," Laura said. 

"I'm grateful we only do this once a year," Derek said, glaring at Laura. He'd had the car for _two months_ now, was she _ever_ going to let it go? 

"I'm grateful for Allison," Scott said, grinning at her. Allison squeezed his hand, smiling back. 

"I'm grateful Melissa could make it to Thanksgiving," Allison said. Melissa looked at Allison with hearts in her eyes. Dammit, Allison was such a kiss-ass, Derek had to work a _lot_ harder than that to score points. 

"I'm grateful Derek and Stiles are finally getting married," said Mrs. Boyd. _Finally?_ "I expect I'll be grateful for their babies, too, if I live long enough to see them. Lord knows I won't live long enough to see Boyd's." 

"I'm grateful Grandma is so understanding about my career," Erica said pointedly. 

"I'm grateful my wife and my grandma never fight at the dinner table," Boyd said, raising an eyebrow at Erica. 

"I'm grateful for Lydia's wedding notes," Stiles said fervently, earning a smile from Lydia. 

"I'm grateful for Laura's Jacuzzi bathtub," Lydia said, smirking at Derek. 

"I'm grateful for knowing as little about your sex lives as possible," Melissa said, giving Lydia a look. 

Everyone looked over at Chris.

"I'll be grateful if we eat sometime this century," Chris said, sliding the cranberry sauce closer to his plate. 

"Works for me," Stiles said, grabbing the basket of dinner rolls. "Let's eat."

*

"Fancy meeting you here," Stiles said, grinning at Isaac in his bakery logo apron. 

"I've told you before, no free cupcakes," Isaac said, folding his arms. 

"No, no, my reasons for being here are legit." Stiles held up his hands. "We have a cake tasting scheduled for Thursday and I'm supposed to narrow the field before then. I came to ogle the cakes." 

Isaac looked only slightly mollified. Granted, Stiles had been pestering him for free cupcakes for the better part of a year now, as long as Isaac had been working there. Before that, he'd dropped in on Isaac at the froyo place. Before _that_ , Isaac had been at Starbucks with Greenberg. 

(Stiles had gotten better discounts from Greenberg.) 

Isaac was living proof of what came of a philosophy degree. 

"Hey, are you still working weekends at the smoothie place in the mall?" Stiles wasn't above using Isaac's poor philosopher situation to his advantage. 

"Yes," Isaac said, sounding altogether tragic. "That place is hell. I might go back to Starbucks."

"You hated Starbucks," Stiles said, shocked. "Or — you hated Greenberg. He's a lifer there. He may _retire_ there."

"I do hate Greenberg," Isaac said, sighing. "Still better than smoothies in the mall."

Then, right that second, Stiles had a moment of genius. 

"Hey, he said, pointing at Isaac with both hands. "Heeey. I happen to know someone who's hiring for evenings and weekends."

"Yeah?" There was a slight chance Isaac was interested. "Who?"

"Laura." Stiles rubbed his hands together, excited. "Derek is going to do — I have no idea what, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. The point is, Derek wants to move on, and he needs a replacement. A protégé."

"You want me to be Derek's protégé?" Isaac said, his eyebrows slowly climbing. 

"The pay isn't amazing, you'd have to keep your day job," Stiles admitted. "But, come on, _DJ_ , that's way better than Starbucks with Greenberg, right?"

"Maybe," Isaac said skeptically. "Would Derek even agree to this?"

"Derek will _love_ it," Stiles said, 60% sure that was true. "You'll be the Obi-Wan to his Qui-Gon. The Nightwing to his Batman. The—"

"I got it," Isaac said. He frowned, hopefully because he was thinking it over, not because he thought the idea was terrible. 

Stiles loitered by the cake display case. If Isaac said yes, Derek would move on to bigger, better, and more enjoyable things, Stiles knew he would. 

"I'll talk to Derek about it," Isaac decided. 

Stiles double fist-pumped. 

"You won't be sorry," he said, backing up toward the door. He hadn't done much cake investigating, but he knew when to make an exit. "This will be great."

"I said I'd _talk_ to him," Isaac said. 

"You'll be great!" Stiles yelled, and ducked out of the bakery before Isaac could say anything else. 

*

The row of cake samples looked delicious. That was high praise coming from Derek, who wasn't a fan of cake, as a rule. 

They'd already decided against chocolate, but that hadn't narrowed things down as much as Derek had expected. There were eight samples and six fillings to try, which meant, what, 48 possible combinations? Derek hadn't tried a single bite yet, and already he never wanted to see a slice of cake again. 

"I asked for lighter samples only," Lydia said, uncapping a bottle of water. "Denser cake holds fondant better, but Derek would hate it." 

"Derek isn't a fan of cake," Stiles told the woman who owned the bakery, picking up his fork. "If he could have a wedding pie, he would." 

"We could do pie," she said. They could? "It's becoming more popular for weddings. I've done weddings with pies on display racks tiered like a cake, weddings with one or a few decorative pies and individual tarts for guests—" 

"You didn't say we could do _pie_ ," Derek said, glaring at Lydia. 

"You're having wedding cake, and you're going to like it," Lydia said, pushing a sample toward him.

Derek grudgingly took a bite of cake. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't pie, either. 

"Fondant is the fancy decorative icing stuff, right?" Stiles poked at a sliver of cake with his fork. "The other day I saw an amazing Batman and Robin wedding cake on that one TV show." Crap. "Then I realized you'd be Batman and I'd be Robin, and I decided that wasn't how I wanted to symbolize our marriage. But you could've been Batman and I could've been Superman." 

"You'd be The Flash," Derek said, taking a bite of something he immediately realized was key lime-flavored. Dammit, he _hated_ key lime.

"I—" Stiles gaped at him. "Is that a crack about our sex life?"

Derek choked on horrible key lime cake. "What? No! Why would you—"

" _Dude_ —"

"He's always running around and cracking jokes, and you're—"

"Funny and hyperactive?" Stiles was still giving him some side-eye, but he nudged a cake plate closer to Derek's fork. Derek shoved a huge forkful of cake into his mouth, glad for an excuse not to be talking. 

The cake had a horribly nutty flavor. Derek had no idea what Lydia had told the baker about their preferences, but this was even worse than the key lime cake. He forced himself to chew, trying not to let anything show on his face. 

Stiles grinned, opening his mouth to say something. He jumped in his chair before any words came out, shooting a wounded look at Lydia. 

"What flavor is that?" Derek said, carefully neutral. 

"Pistachio," Lydia said, giving them both with a disapproving teacher look. Stiles smirked. Had he done that on _purpose?_ Derek should've known. 

"I was messing with you," Stiles said. Obviously. "Derek is right—" _Those_ words weren't spoken too often. "If I had a superpower it would be the Speed Force." What the hell was the Speed Force? Derek took a cautious bite of something with a decorative mint leaf on top, mostly tuning Stiles out. "But seriously, I'm Wally West, right? Not Barry Allen?"

"This one is good," Lydia said, pushing a plate toward them.

"I don't understand why we can't just get the cake Allison got," Stiles grumbled, trying a bite. He chewed, thought about it, and shrugged, moving on to another sample. "That was a great cake. I _loved_ that cake."

"Because we agreed we aren't going to have Scott and Allison's wedding," Derek said, trying a bite of a white cake with a bit of dark red filling. That — huh. "What's the filling?"

"Mixed berry," said the woman who owned the bakery. She had her chin propped on her palm, watching them like they were great television.

"This one," Derek said. 

"Ooh, give me some," Stiles said, opening his mouth and looking at Derek expectantly. 

Was he expecting Derek to feed him? Was his wrist suddenly broken? Had his fork spontaneously disintegrated?

"Come on, dude, we should practice," Stiles said, gesturing from Derek's fork to his own mouth. "Give it a shot."

Derek took a tiny sliver of the cake between his fingers, frosting side up, and smushed it onto Stiles' face. 

"You're right," Derek said, satisfied. "Practice is good."

"We'll take it," Stiles said, pointing at the smear of icing on his cheek. 

"Let's talk decoration," Lydia said too brightly, turning her chair so she didn't have to see either of them. 

*

Derek and Isaac were hunched in front of Derek's laptop, half an hour into a lesson on the very best of wedding slow dances. 

"This is exciting." Stiles grabbed the milk carton out of the fridge and swished it. There was barely half a glass in there, who had put the milk back in the fridge with so little — oh, right, that was him. "I'm digging the master and apprentice thing you have going on." 

Derek narrowed his eyes at the milk carton. Stiles sighed, grabbing a glass from the dish rack. 

"What's your DJ name?" Stiles poured the milk into the glass, doing it with a bit of flair for Derek's benefit. 

"He doesn't need a DJ name," Derek said, rolling his eyes. "Go away, we're busy."

"Sure he does," Stiles said, ignoring that last part. "He can't be Hot DJ, that one is taken."

"We really are busy, Stiles," Isaac said, rolling his eyes too. Ah, how quickly the student became the master. 

"Not that you aren't hot," Stiles reassured him.

Derek shot him a _really?_ look.

"Not as hot as you, cupcake," Stiles said, knocking back his paltry two swallows of milk. Someone needed to do grocery shopping. He attempted to communicate that to Derek with a head tilt and a slight wave of his empty glass. 

Derek communicated _110% done_ with his eyebrows alone. 

"Fine," Stiles said, retreating. "I'll just be in here. Listening to slow dances. Taking notes. Derek, are you sure you don't want Bryan Adams for our first dance? That song from Robin Hood is magical."

Derek crumpled up a sheet of paper and threw it at him. 

"I don't know how you get anything done," Stiles heard Isaac say. Derek laughed. Aww, they were _bonding_. 

Stiles' ideas were the best ideas.

*

Derek sat the kitchen table, organizing his equipment into _things to give to Isaac_ and _things to keep._ Laura owned the sound system and the lights, so there were only a handful of things left to sort through. His mixer and cables were on the _give_ side of the table, his headphones were on the _keep_ side, and his laptop ... he couldn't decide about the laptop. It was only three and a half years old, but in laptop years, that was ancient. If he gave that one to Isaac, he'd have an excuse to buy a new one. 

He nudged the laptop toward the _give_ side. 

He dug around in his laptop bag, pulling out bits and pieces of things and dividing them up. Isaac could have his backup external hard drive, but Derek was keeping the primary drive. Isaac could have the extra charger for Derek's wireless mics, but Derek was keeping his USB cords. 

At the very bottom of one of the front pouches, where Derek almost never looked, there was something crumpled up and squished down in one corner. 

It was a green and purple striped tie. 

Derek stared at it blankly, wondering what it was doing in his computer bag, and then it clicked: he'd shoved that tie into his bag almost three years ago. He kept printouts in that pocket sometimes, loose cords, but he'd never cleaned it out all the way down to the bottom. He'd mostly forgotten that tie had ever existed. 

That was the tie Lydia had insisted he remove before Scott and Allison's wedding. 

Derek dangled the tie from his fingers, eyeing it. 

"Hey, Stiles," he called out. "I know what our wedding colors are."

He definitely wasn't going to clash with the wedding _this_ time around. 

*

"Ooh, fancy china," Stiles said, mesmerized by the rows and rows of pretty, breakable things. "Let's scan in some of that, Lydia will love it." 

"No," Derek said. He grabbed the registry scanner out of Stiles' hand and marched off toward the pots and pans, not stopping to see if Stiles was following him. 

"That's my man," Stiles said to the woman at the wedding registry desk, jerking a thumb at Derek. "Tell him which pans are the most expensive, and he'll register for three of each. He has a thing about pans. Threw all of mine out before he even moved in."

"I think he has it covered," she said, amused. Stiles glanced over and saw two different salesgirls attempting to show Derek shiny steel cookware. "Would you like to pick out a china pattern while he's working on that?"

"Absolutely." Stiles clapped his hands together. "I want something hideously expensive. A friend of mine is on a years-long mission to see how much she can make her dad buy her out of _sorry I'm a crappy parent_ guilt, and I think we could help her out here." 

"Hmm," said the wedding registry lady, an unholy gleam in her eye. 

"But it can't be _tacky_ expensive, because if she buys it, I'll have to use it sometimes," he said, pulling a face. He'd have to break it out for Thanksgiving, at the very least. "So I guess I'd need—" Stiles and Derek, Laura, Lydia, Scott and Allison, Chris, Erica and Boyd, Mrs. Boyd ... Melissa, maybe Stiles' dad, that was, what, twelve? "Enough for fourteen people, to be safe."

Derek came back over just as Stiles was about to scan the barcode on something that cost almost four hundred dollars per setting. 

"You're kidding, right," Derek said, eyeing the dishes. Granted, they looked like something only a rich great-aunt with a country estate in England would buy as a wedding gift, but Stiles was devoted to Lydia's cause. 

"I told you, Lydia will _love_ it," Stiles reassured him. He was trying not to move much, or at all; there were fragile, expensive things in all directions. 

"We'll have to use these sometimes," Derek said, pinching the bridge of his nose and huffing out a sigh. "Pick something we won't be terrified to eat on." 

" _Fine_ ," Stiles grumbled, scanning in his second choice pattern instead. "I like this one because it looks like it belongs in a museum. There are dragons on the plates. _Dragons_."

"It's two hundred dollars a setting, Stiles," Derek said, sounding pained. 

"I know," Stiles said, bumping the quantity up to 16. "Lydia can thank me later."

*

**_From: Lydia_**  
Wedgwood? Is this a joke?

**_To: Lydia_**  
He liked the dragons on the plates. 

**_From: Lydia_**  
I'm not buying you thousands of dollars of Wedgwood china. 

Thank god. Derek hadn't been looking forward to dealing with _fourteen settings_ of fancy shit they would break within a year. 

**_To: Lydia_**  
Buy whatever you want. 

**_From: Lydia_**  
I picked out another pattern. 

Dammit, no. Derek wanted _no china_ , not a different pattern. 

**_To: Lydia_**  
Buy whatever you want that isn't china. 

**_From: Lydia_**  
You'll thank me later. 

Derek gave up. He had no idea where they would store it all, but that could be Stiles' problem; Derek wasn't the one who'd scanned china as a joke. 

*

"You haven't asked what I'm going to do after this," Derek said. 

Stiles looked up from his carton of noodles, wondering if he'd missed the beginning of the conversation.

"After dinner?" 

"After Isaac takes over," Derek said, aimlessly rearranging pieces of orange chicken on his plate. "Don't you care?" 

Stiles clicked his chopsticks together, trying to come up with the right thing to say. 

"You did a lot for Laura's business," he said. "You were doing a ton of extra stuff with clients that Isaac isn't going to be doing—"

"Laura is getting an assistant," Derek said, abandoning his chicken in favor of poking half-heartedly at his rice. 

"Good, that's good," Stiles said. "A photographer assistant? We do still need to hire—" Derek stabbed his rice. "Right, not the time. The point is, everything you've done for the past three and a half years has been about helping Laura. I'm not going to push you to do anything in particular. I want you to do what _you_ want to do next." 

Derek set down his chopsticks, hands curling into fists on top of the table. 

"I'm not sure what I want to do," he said, looking horribly uncomfortable. "I don't know." 

"You don't have to know right this second," Stiles said. "If you want to take some time to figure it out, we can afford that. I'm not worried."

They were moderately broke on a good day, but that was mostly down to Stiles' refusal to eat away at Derek's savings for everyday shit. Derek didn't have as much money squirreled away as he had when Stiles had met him — hospital bills, wedding bills, home repair, the new bed, all of that added up — but there was still enough left to replace Derek's income for a while if he wanted to find himself, or whatever. 

(A while. A long while. Maybe indefinitely. Stiles didn't usually think of Derek as being _independently wealthy_ , but — well.)

"I might build a deck," Derek said. 

Stiles choked on a mouthful of noodles. "In January?"

"In _May_ ," Derek said, picking his chopsticks up again. Being annoyed with Stiles always gave him an appetite. "After we're done with the wedding." 

"We'll never be done with this wedding." Stiles gestured with his box of noodles. "Never. I used to think people went on honeymoons to have creative sex in tropical settings, but no, our honeymoon is going to be our reward to ourselves for not losing it, canceling everything, and sneaking off to Vegas."

"We can still have creative sex in tropical settings," Derek said, stealing some of Stiles' noodles. 

"If we make it that far," Stiles said, not about to be thrown off-track by sex, not when he had a good rant going on. "Did you know Allison wants to throw us a wedding shower? A _wedding shower_." 

"She wants to be involved," Derek said, shrugging. Of course _he_ was blasé about it, he'd probably never gone to a wedding shower in his life. "Let her do it, it'll be fine." 

*

"Where the hell did you even get this picture," Derek said, hastily tearing the print-out off Allison's _Then & Now _board. 

"Laura's Facebook," Allison said, snatching the picture back and smoothing it out. "Go sit down, we're going to do some shower games." 

*

Stiles opened the door. A Girl Scout with curly blond hair frowned at him, clutching her cookie order form. 

"Where's Mr. Hale?" She said, sounding put out. 

"Hiding," Stiles said. "If you promise to tell the other girls that Mr. Hale developed a sudden cookie allergy, I'll buy five boxes." 

"Deal," the girl said, holding out her order form. 

Stiles didn't get any Thin Mints. Derek would inevitably retaliate somehow, and two months before a wedding wasn't a good time to start a prank war.

*

Derek answered the door. The person on their front porch was, thank god, not a Girl Scout. 

"Package for you," said the UPS guy, handing Derek a large, unexpectedly light box.

Derek took the box inside, dropping it on the kitchen table. "Did you order something?"

"No, I — ooh, presents," Stiles said, pulling the box closer. He lifted the box to his ear and shook it. 

"Would you stop," Derek said, grabbing the box back. "I'm going to put this upstairs." 

The second bedroom had become a wedding war zone. The gifts they'd already gotten at the shower were stacked up on the floor, and the bed was littered with cards and brochures and crumpled up wrapping paper and, if Stiles hadn't gotten around to throwing it away yet, a dead flower arrangement. 

Derek had vague memories of Erica's house after her wedding, and how there'd been wedding debris scattered everywhere for months. At least they'd managed to contain the wedding to one room so far. 

So long as no one needed to sleep over in the next two months, they were handling the wedding planning pretty well. 

*

Derek was determined not to hire a band. Laura was determined they not hire some smarmy competitor she hated. Lydia was determined they hire somebody, anybody, before everyone was booked up for their wedding day. 

That had all led them here. To this moment. To this dude Stiles had found on Craigslist, which, in hindsight, had been his first mistake. 

"I've never heard of that song," said Craigslist DJ. 

Stiles blinked. "What song? At Last?" 

"Yeah," said Craigslist DJ, who had possibly been living under a rock his entire life. 

"I—" Stiles glanced at Derek. Derek was staring fixedly at Craigslist DJ, eyes narrowed, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. "It's been in a ton of movies, commercials, it — are you serious?"

"I'll Google it," said Craigslist DJ, shrugging.

"We aren't exactly thinking outside the box here, it's one of the most popular wedding songs ever," Stiles said. Craigslist DJ gave him a blank look. " _Ever_." Still nothing. "You have done a wedding before, right?" 

"No," said Craigslist DJ. 

Stiles grabbed his phone, opening his email. "Uh, dude, before I agreed to meet with you, you said you'd done _plenty of them_. I have it in writing. Have you done this before, at all?" 

"I do parties for my friends sometimes," said Craigslist DJ, not fazed in the least. "I was being hypothetical, you get me? About the future." 

Derek made an outraged noise, trying to end the guy with the sheer power of his glare. 

"O-kay," Stiles said, putting a hand on Derek's arm. "We'll think about it and let you know." Derek was still glaring at the guy. Stiles squeezed his arm. Great, now Derek was glaring at Stiles. "Come on, honey, lots of places to be today."

The hostility in Derek's eyes broke, his mouth twitching on one side. 

"Whatever you say, _honey_ ," Derek said. 

Good thing they'd arranged to meet the guy at the diner; they could make a quick escape now and settle up with Hailey later. 

"Wow," Stiles said the second they were safely outside. " _Wow_. That really puts things into perspective. You're surprisingly good at your job."

"Thanks," Derek said dryly. 

"You have to admit, being a crowd warmer doesn't come naturally," Stiles said, patting Derek's shoulder. "But compared to that guy, you have the energy and exuberance of an entire troupe of Cirque du Soleil performers, all rolled into one. Do you think people will actually hire that guy?"

"Probably," Derek sighed. He pressed his lips together, contemplative. "We go with a band, then."

"Or," Stiles said, not sure how good an idea it was even as he said it, "we ask Isaac to do it."

"He won't get to _go_ to the wedding, then," Derek said, frowning. "He could go to the ceremony, but the reception — when you're working, it's different." 

"We're desperate," Stiles pointed out. "And he's our friend, who I'll bet would rather help us out than have you sulk through your own wedding reception because you wanted a DJ and got a band."

"I hate wedding band covers," Derek muttered.

"I know you do," Stiles said. He'd only heard about it fifty bazillion times. "Can we at least _ask_ Isaac? If he says no, then we can think about hiring a band."

*

"Isaac will do it," Derek called out, setting his laptop bag on the stairs. 

The TV was on. Derek couldn't make out what show it was from the front hallway, but the faint sounds of TV dialogue were enough to tell him Stiles was still awake at 1AM. 

Maybe he'd waited up for Derek. He didn't do that very often, anymore. 

" _Yes_ ," Stiles shouted, the _s_ coming out in a long hiss. "I _told_ you to stop freaking out."

"I wasn't freaking out," Derek said, puzzled. He walked into the living room, unknotting his tie and unbuttoning his vest as he walked. Stiles leaned up to leer at him over the back of the couch, giving Derek's fully clothed strip show a nod of approval. 

Lydia and Danny were next to Stiles on the couch. There were three mostly empty bottles of red wine on the coffee table in front of them. 

"She was freaking out," Stiles said, jerking his head at Lydia. 

"This is a real problem," said a stressed woman in bright blue taffeta, staring at her reflection in a fitting room mirror. 

Derek blinked at the TV. "What is that?"

"You don't want to know," Danny said, in tones of deep suffering. 

"It's for research," Lydia said, and giggled. 

"Say Yes to the Dress." Stiles squinted at the screen. "Bridesmaids Edition."

"I can't wear dark purple satin, Derek," Lydia said, gesturing with her wine glass. Danny steadied her hand before she could spill any red wine on the couch. "Erica would look better in purple, but we all have to be the _same color_ , so we're going to be green. Laura agreed."

Of course Laura had agreed. Lydia could tell her to wear neon pink and she'd probably agree. 

"If Erica would rather be purple, she can be purple," Derek said. Lydia scowled. "My wedding, my rules."

"According to this show, we're supposed to pick a hideous dress to make them wear," Stiles said, tilting his head back against the couch cushions. "With ruffles or flowers or something."

That gave Derek an idea. 

"All right, Lydia," he said, folding his arms. "If you want the dresses to be green, they'll all be green — but Erica gets to pick the dress." 

"Hmm, no," Lydia said, narrowing her eyes. 

"Take it or leave it," Derek said. 

"I'm not wearing something skintight," Lydia said. "If Erica picks the dress—"

"Then she gets to be purple," Derek said, shrugging. "I don't care, but it's one or the other."

Lydia looked at Stiles for help. Derek and Danny looked at Stiles too, waiting to see what he'd do. 

"No," Stiles said, shaking his head. "Nope. Not getting involved."

"Erica can pick the dress," Lydia said slowly, sounding like every word pained her. She raised a finger. " _But_ —"

"How was the wedding?" Stiles interrupted, leaning forward to grab one of the bottles of wine and empty it into his glass. "Good? Any wedding drama? Isaac ready to become a Jedi Master?" 

"Yes, no, and you need to stop calling him that, he's starting to say it too," Derek said, settling on the arm of the couch. Isaac was as ready as he'd ever be. After next Saturday's wedding, Derek would be done, and Isaac would be on his own. "He'll be fine."

"One more week," Stiles said. 

"Yeah." Derek didn't want to talk about that. "I'm going to head up. Don't stay up too late." 

"He doesn't like it when I wake him up getting into bed," Stiles told Lydia and Danny. 

"Laura doesn't like it when I wake her up getting _out_ of bed," Lydia said, pursing her lips. "She's so _grumpy_ in the morning."

"It's genetic," Stiles said. Danny laughed, grinning at Derek. 

"Goodnight," Derek said, leaving them to talk about him in private. 

The cat chased him up the stairs, bolting into the bedroom ahead of him. She leapt onto the bed, flopped onto her back, flattened her ears, and started furiously attacking her tail. 

"I'm going to sleep," he told the cat. "Either you can go to sleep, too, or you can get out." 

She sneezed violently, kicking out her back feet. 

He grabbed the edge of the blanket, threw it over her, and rolled her into a cat burrito, moving her to the floor. 

"Good _night_ ," Derek told the cat. 

She sneezed again, which he decided to take as a _goodnight_ of her own. 

*

"The cat is still sneezing," Derek said. 

Stiles couldn't have heard that right. There was no way Derek had woken him up at three in the morning to tell him the cat was sneezing. 

"She might have a," Derek gestured at his chest. "Whatever that's called, you should take her in today."

This was really happening. Stiles eyed Derek, contemplating beating him with a pillow. 

"You take her in, she's your cat," Stiles mumbled, closing his eyes. There, problem solved. 

"She's your cat," Derek said. 

"She was my cat for about a year. Now she is one hundred percent, without a doubt, ask anyone, your cat, so you can take her to see Dr. McCall tomorrow, and I am going back to sleep."

"Fine," Derek said.

"Good," Stiles said, drifting off to sleep. 

He woke up completely a few minutes later, eyes flying open. 

"Is this what you're going to be like when we have kids?" He rolled over onto his side to stare at Derek. "Waking me up at three in the morning because someone has a cough? I might kill you before the first one makes it to daycare."

"You don't think you're going to sleep through the night if our kids are sick, do you?" Derek was doing a thing with his eyebrows, looking genuinely baffled. "That's not how kids work."

"Can we at least agree that's how _cats_ work?" 

"Stiles," Derek said in _that_ tone, the one that meant they were having a fundamental disagreement and there would be no meeting in the middle. 

"Oh my god," Stiles said, flailing an arm out until he found a pillow to pull over his head. "I'm not waking in the night for cat sneezes," he said, words muffled by the pillow. "I refuse."

The cat sneezed. 

Derek heaved a sigh. 

Stiles changed his mind. If he had to endure this, someone else should suffer, too. 

He grabbed his phone off the side table, pulling it in under the pillow still covering his face. 

"What's," Scott said after the fourth ring, sounding barely awake. 

"The cat is sneezing," Stiles said. 

There was a long silence. 

"Put Derek on the phone," Scott said, yawning. 

Stiles shoved the phone at Derek. "Talk to Scott."

Derek took the phone. 

"I didn't tell him to—" A long pause. "No." Derek sat up, the mattress shifting. "No, they're clear." Another pause. "If you're — yes, yes, okay." He set the phone down on Stiles' chest. "Scott wants to talk to you."

Stiles fumbled the phone back under his pillow. 

"Hey," he said. 

"I hate you," Scott said. 

"I love you too, buddy," Stiles said. "Thanks."

Scott hung up. 

Stiles dropped his phone back onto the table. 

"Scott said he'd check her out tomorrow, but if her eyes and nose are clear, he isn't worried," Derek said. 

"That's great," Stiles said into the pillow. "If you wake me up again, I'm leaving you at the altar."

Amazingly enough, Derek didn't wake him again. 

*

"Make sure there's another slow one, I didn't get enough pictures of Stacey's parents dancing together," Laura said. 

"I have two slow dance requests in, shouldn't be a problem," Isaac said. 

"Cool." Laura glanced at Derek. "You're looking a little scowly. Smile some, you're going to scare the guests."

Then she was off, gesturing for the assistant whose name Derek could never remember. Penny? Paige? One of those, something with a P. 

"You do look scowly," Isaac said, watching the dance floor. "Everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Derek said. He was useless, watching Isaac and Laura work and not doing very much himself, but he was fine. 

Isaac glanced over and smirked, nudging Derek with his elbow. 

"Hey, Mr. DJ," said an awfully familiar voice. "I have a request."

Derek looked up at Stiles, wondering why he was surprised. Stiles had acted strangely last night, smiling a lot for no reason in a way that had creeped Derek out. Of course he'd been planning something. He was almost always planning something. 

"I knew the bride in high school. She thought it was super romantic that I wanted to surprise my fiancé at his last wedding." Stiles waved at the dance floor. The bride waved back, grinning. 

"Not my _last_ wedding," Derek said. 

"You know what I mean." Stiles tilted his head, gesturing for Derek to come around the table. "Come on, man. I've been waiting almost three years to dance to Sinatra with the hot DJ and this is my last chance. Get out here."

"I've got it, go," Isaac said. He hadn't asked which song to play; clearly he was in on it, too. 

Derek didn't know why he was nervous. He'd danced with Stiles at a number of weddings, to all kinds of wedding standards, but—

Stiles took his hand, tugging him toward the dance floor.

"You look pretty intense right now," Stiles said. "Relax. It's just a dance." He stopped at the edge of the dance floor, drumming his fingers against the back of Derek's hand as he waited for the song to change. "I mean it, your eyebrows are fusing together. That's never a good sign. What's up?"

After tonight, Derek wouldn't be working with Laura anymore. Her business had been what brought him to Beacon Hills, had led him to Stiles and everything his life was now, everything it would be, and now that whole period of his life was very nearly over. 

He'd expected to feel relieved, and a bit guilty, maybe. He hadn't expected to feel _sad_. 

He was the slightest bit scared, too. 

"They're playing our song," Stiles said. Derek let Stiles lead him out onto the floor. Stiles swept a hand down Derek's back, pulling him in close. "I don't know what you were so worried about. We could've danced to this at Erica's wedding without me breaking anything."

Derek could see Laura out of the corner of his eye, clicking tons of pictures of him and Stiles. She wasn't getting paid to do that. 

"It's going to be different," Derek said. That was as close as he could get to describing what he was feeling. 

"It'd be pretty boring if everything always stayed the same," Stiles said. 

Derek hesitated, tightening his grip on Stiles' hand. "You sure you aren't worried?" 

"Not at all," Stiles said, sounding completely confident. "Everything is going to be great."

*

"Huh," Stiles said. 

"I think they look nice," his dad said. 

They didn't look like much of anything, just plain metal bands, smooth and shining in the ring box. Derek's was white gold and Stiles' was yellow, because they hadn't even been able to agree on that much, but they were otherwise identical. 

"For what we paid, they'd better look freaking amazing," Stiles said. He couldn't stop staring at the rings. The most lasting symbol of his parents' marriage had been his dad's wedding ring, scuffed and worn, there on his hand for years after Stiles' mother had died. 

It was seriously weird to be looking at his own wedding ring. 

His dad reached over and closed the ring box. 

"Anything you want to talk about, son?"

"I'm not freaking out," Stiles said immediately, then winced, dropping his forehead down onto his palm. 

"Uh-huh," his dad said. "How many days until the wedding?" 

"Eight," Stiles said. 

"Cold feet?" 

"No, Dad, jeez," Stiles said, jerking his head up to frown at his dad. "I just — for the _rest of our lives_ , you know?"

"If it'll help, I can give you some divorce statistics," his dad said. 

"This is why people tell me my sense of humor is inappropriate," Stiles said, pointing at his dad. "That right there."

His dad patted him on the back. "Don't get arrested at the bachelor party, and you'll be fine." 

*

"Two groups," Lydia said. She had a clipboard in her hand and a shopping bag dangling from one arm. Derek didn't want to find out what was in the bag. "Scott and I made up itineraries for each group, so we shouldn't cross paths at any point."

" _Itineraries?_ " Stiles wrinkled his nose at Derek. Derek agreed with the sentiment. "Do bachelor parties usually have itineraries?" 

"Couples split up, and Laura decided it would be too weird to go to her brother's bachelor party," Lydia continued, ignoring Stiles. "So—"

"Wait," Derek said, realizing where this was going. 

"Derek's group is me, Erica, Allison, and Isaac," Lydia said. Derek got _Lydia_. How did _Derek_ get stuck with Lydia, she was one of Stiles' best friends, it made no sense. "Stiles' group is Laura, Boyd, Scott, and Danny." 

"Oh god," Stiles said. 

"Danny has the itinerary for your group, he's the responsible one tonight," Lydia told Stiles. Derek wondered who the responsible one was for his group. Isaac? Not Lydia, he knew how much she could drink. Definitely not Erica or Allison. Yeah, probably Isaac. That could be good or incredibly bad, depending. 

Lydia reached into her shopping bag and pulled out a shiny plastic crown, dropping it onto Stiles' head. In silver glitter lettering, it said on the front: GROOM ONE. 

"What just happened," Stiles said, staring up at his eyebrows. 

"No," Derek said, holding up a hand to stop Lydia as she approached him with a second crown that said, unsurprisingly, GROOM TWO. Erica took the crown, shoved Derek's hand down, and settled it on his head, patting his hair into place. 

"Danny has more stuff in his car," Lydia said — no, threatened, it sounded like a threat. "See you tomorrow." 

Laura blew her a kiss. 

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Stiles yelled over his shoulder as Scott herded him out of the house. 

Erica clicked a picture of Derek with her phone. "What's first on our itinerary?" 

"Jello shots," Lydia said, heading for the fridge. What? When had she snuck _jello shots_ into Derek's fridge? Also, no. 

"I'm not doing jello shots," Derek said. 

" _Everyone_ is doing jello shots," Lydia said, pulling out a tray of tiny white cups filled with red jello. "Isaac, I made a couple with no alcohol."

"Great," Isaac said unenthusiastically. 

Erica ate two jello shots in a row, turning her mouth bright red. 

"Check that one off," she said, crumpling the paper cups in her fist. "What is the other group doing first?"

*

"Has everyone eaten?" Laura asked, turning around in Danny's passenger seat to peer at Scott, Boyd, and Stiles. 

"I'll get something while we're out," Stiles said. He'd spent the last hour getting his clothes dictated to him by Danny, there hadn't been time to eat. 

"Wrong answer," Laura said. "Danny, turn here, I think there's an Arby's. No one drinks on an empty stomach."

"I can't believe my bachelor party is starting at _Arby's_ ," Stiles said, tossing up his hands. "I should be drunk by now. I'll bet you _Derek_ is drunk by now."

*

"I'm not doing body shots off a frat boy, Erica," Derek shouted. 

"Come on, Derek, live a little," Erica shouted back, handing him a lime wedge. 

*

"This is my best friend," Scott told the bartender, arm slung around Stiles. "He's getting married in three days, and he hasn't had a thing to drink yet." 

"Don't worry, honey, we'll fix that," the bartender said, lining up a row of shot glasses. 

*

"I think I just drank a penguin," Allison said. 

"How are you so drunk," Lydia said, wrapping her arms around Allison and squishing her into a hug. Allison giggled, hugging Lydia back. They swayed in place, keeping each other upright. 

"I think we should head home," Isaac said, looking at Derek for support.

"I don't think she drank an actual penguin," Derek said. He couldn't guarantee it. He hadn't seen her do it. 

"Thanks for that insight, Qui-Gon," Isaac said. 

"Text Stiles and tell him we're crashing at Derek's tonight," Erica said, slumping against Derek's side and resting her head on his shoulder. "There was so much vodka."

"Next time, someone else can be DD," Isaac said, tapping at his phone. 

"I think we're done," Erica said, yawning. "No more bachelor parties. No more weddings. Who else is going to get married? You?"

"Hey," someone said, tapping Derek on the shoulder. "Text Guy?" 

Derek turned around, taking Erica with him. They blinked at a familiar woman in a blue dress. 

"Orange Juice Girl?" Derek said. 

"Oh my god, rude," Erica said, slapping at Derek's stomach. "Hi, Claire. It's Derek's bachelor party." 

"I would never have guessed," Claire said, looking up at Derek's GROOM TWO crown. "Hi, Isaac. I see you hiding back there." 

"Crap," Isaac muttered. 

Allison and Lydia burst into laughter, swaying back against the bar.

"Definitely time to go home," Erica said, smirking at Isaac over Derek's shoulder. 

*

"Hey," someone said, tapping Stiles on the shoulder. "Stiles?" 

Stiles knew that voice. He turned around slowly, a shot glass in either hand. 

"Hi, Sarah," Stiles said. 

Laura did a spit-take with a mouthful of tequila. 

Sarah smiled weakly, glancing past him. Stiles turned to look. Danny was nowhere to be seen, but Scott and Boyd were watching with deer-in-headlights expressions. 

Laura was still coughing, one hand pressed to her chest. 

"You, um." Stiles reached up to scratch at the back of his head. His fingers bumped into the plastic crown he was still wearing, tilting it to one side. Sarah glanced up, eyes widening as she read the glitter lettering on the front. "You look good." 

She looked the same. Her hair was shorter and her nose ring was gone, but mostly, she looked the same as she had in college. 

"You too," she said. They stared at each other silently, the awkwardness piling up second by second. "Are you — is this—"

"It's my bachelor party, yeah," Stiles said, glancing down at the shots he was holding, wondering if it would be tacky to do them both right then. "I'm getting married on Saturday." 

"Congratulations," she said. 

"Thanks," he said. Neither of them moved, they were trapped in some horrible kind of ex encounter stalemate. "What are you doing in Beacon Hills?" 

"A friend of mine just moved here," she said, looking like it was occuring to her for the first time that going into Beacon Hills meant she might bump into Stiles. "I didn't realize you were still — I thought you were going to LA."

"I moved back after grad school," Stiles said. 

"Oh," she said. 

"Hi," Laura said, coming to his rescue. "I'm Laura. Sarah, right? It's nice to meet you. I'm Stiles' sister-in-law. Future sister-in-law. Almost. He's marrying my brother."

Sarah shook Laura's hand, bemused. 

"You remember Scott and Boyd," Stiles said, jerking a thumb back at them. 

"Sure," Sarah said, glancing over his shoulder. "Hi. I, um—" She bit her lip, waving a hand behind her, where two women Stiles didn't recognize were watching with twin _oh shit_ expressions. "I should go, but it was ... it was nice seeing you."

"You too," Stiles said automatically.

"Congratulations," Sarah said, then shook her head, flustered. "I said that already, I'm sorry." She leaned in and up, pressing a kiss to Stiles' cheek. "Bye, Stiles."

"Bye, Sarah," Stiles said, watching her go. Sarah's friends grabbed her and headed for the exit, sending curious glances back at him before they disappeared around a corner.

"Holy shit," Laura said. "Was that who I think it was?" 

"That was Stiles' college girlfriend," Scott said. He clapped Stiles on the arm. "Are you okay?" 

"Damn, Stiles, what are the _odds_ ," Boyd said.

Stiles drank one of the shots in his hand, giving the other one to Laura. She looked like she needed it. 

"No one breathes a word of this to Derek until I tell him," Stiles said, already envisioning all the ways Derek could misinterpret _we ran into Stiles' ex and she kissed him_. 

" _Damn_ , Stiles," Boyd said again, shaking his head. 

Danny walked up to them, tucking a napkin with a phone number on it into his pocket. 

"Hey," he said, glancing between them. "Did I miss anything?" 

*

There was a fresh pot of coffee, a skillet full of scrambled eggs on the stove, and the entire downstairs was immaculate, all traces of the bachelor party erased.

"Just tell me there weren't strippers," Derek said, not sure he wanted to know what Stiles was apologizing for. " _We_ didn't have strippers." 

He didn't think there'd been strippers. Had there been a penguin? He needed to compare notes with Erica. 

"There weren't any strippers," Stiles said, watching Derek pour himself a cup of coffee. "Erica, Lydia, and Allison are passed out in the guest bedroom on top of all the wedding stuff, so I'm guessing a good time was had by all."

Derek snorted. "Except Isaac. He ran into Claire again." 

"What the hell was in the water last night," Stiles said, grimacing. Derek raised his eyebrows, waiting for Stiles to explain. "I kinda bumped into someone, too."

There it was. "Someone...?"

"Sarah," Stiles said, rubbing at his eyes. 

"Sarah, your ex, Sarah?" Derek only knew one Sarah whose name Stiles would say like that, like she was still meaningful, years after the fact. 

Stiles nodded. "It wasn't anything but impressively awkward, I promise. Laura was there, but she was as awkward as anyone. We stood around for a minute, failing at human interaction, and then Sarah went back to her friends and they left in a hurry."

"Okay," Derek said, wondering why Stiles expected him to be mad about it. Stiles must expect him to have _some_ reaction, given the sparkling kitchen. "So...?" 

"So she has friends in Beacon Hills now, and we might run into her now and then," Stiles said, sounding like he was delivering the worst news ever.

"I think we'll survive," Derek said. Better they run into Stiles' ex than Derek's. 

"Yeah, but," Stiles gestured with one hand. "If last night is any indication, it's going to be uncomfortable and embarrassing every single time, so I made eggs."

"There are eggs?" Erica wandered into the kitchen. Her dress was one giant wrinkle, and she looked twice as hungover as Derek felt. "Gimme."

Derek pointed at the skillet. She grabbed a plate out of the cabinet, dumped the entire skillet of eggs onto it, and fished a fork out of the dish rack, leaning back against the counter. 

"I'm going to pick up the tuxes at one," Stiles said, yawning. "Scott is going to meet me there to get his."

"I have the dresses," Erica said around a mouthful of eggs. Stiles made a face at her. She stuck out her tongue at him. "We're going to get ready at Laura's before we head over to the hotel." She pointed her fork at Derek. "You too." 

Derek exchanged a confused look with Stiles. "What do you mean, me too?" 

"You're going home with Laura after the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night." Erica scooped up more eggs, eyes on her plate as she talked. "Otherwise it's bad luck." 

"Not seeing each other before the wedding, I think that's only a thing when there's a bride, not two grooms," Stiles said.

Erica raised an eyebrow at Stiles. "Because women are unlucky?" 

"I'll stay with Laura, I don't care," Derek said, intervening before the two of them could get a good brawl going. "Tuxes, is that it for today?" 

"This is a disaster," Lydia said, storming into the kitchen. "The florist didn't get a shipment of lisianthus, so she wants to substitute roses. _Roses_. I'm going over there right now."

"Derek will go with you," Stiles said, shrugging at the incredulous look Derek gave him. "What? I'm on tuxes today, dude. You can be on flowers." 

"I don't—" _care about the flowers_ , Derek was going to say, but Erica dropped her fork and clapped a hand over his mouth before he could get the rest out. Stiles gave her a thumbs up. 

"Go get dressed, then," Lydia said, making a shooing gesture. "Hurry up." 

"Yeah, Derek," Erica said, smirking at him. "Hurry up. I know how worried you must be about the flowers."

*

"Orchids, roses, and hydrangeas," Derek reported, faceplanting on the couch. 

Stiles wasn't sure he'd known what the flower arrangements were originally supposed to be; once Derek had picked the wedding colors, Lydia and Laura had handled the flowers with little to no input from them.

"Well, that sounds nice," he said, searching on his phone for a picture of hydrangeas. 

"Lydia said our entire wedding is now the cliché she always knew it would be," Derek said, voice muffled by the couch cushion. 

"She would know, she planned most of it," Stiles said. Oh, _hydrangeas,_ he knew what those were. "Laura came and got your tux while you were out. You're committed to spending tomorrow night at her house, now." He poked Derek with his foot. "Not much left to do except rehearse."

Derek turned his head, eyeing Stiles. "Did you watch the bow tie tutorial, this time?" 

"Oh, yeah, absolutely," Stiles said. He hadn't — when had there been time to sit down with an internet tutorial? — but he had people for that. Danny. Lydia. One of them would fix his tie for him, it'd be fine. 

"Did you write your vows?" 

"Several drafts," Stiles said. He needed to remember to put the final draft of his vows on index cards, but other than that, he was all set. 

"And you know where the rings are," Derek said. 

"In your sock drawer," Stiles said, pointing upstairs. "I'm giving them to Scott at the dinner tomorrow, then they'll be his responsibility." Derek nodded, eyes drifting shut. "Are you going to take a nap?" 

A nap was a great idea. They had nothing to do and nowhere to be for at least the next two hours. 

"Move over," Stiles said, going over to the couch and pushing at Derek's shoulder until Derek shifted onto his side, giving Stiles room to stretch out in front of him. Derek made an approving noise, draping his arm over Stiles' waist. 

This was nice — perfect, actually. If they spent their entire honeymoon napping, Stiles wouldn't mind. 

"Wake me when it's time to leave for the beach," he said. 

Derek had already fallen asleep.

*

"That's it," Laura said, slinging the strap of her camera around her neck. Her assistant photographer was right there, camera in hand, but Laura had insisted on taking pictures of the rehearsal dinner too. Derek wouldn't bet against her bringing her camera to the wedding tomorrow. "We're going home. Say goodnight."

" _Say_ goodnight, right," Stiles said, making a dismissive noise. "I want a goodnight kiss." 

Derek could do that. He stepped up to Stiles, curling his fingers through Stiles' belt loops. Stiles smiled at him, linking his fingers behind Derek's neck. 

"Make it good," Stiles said, gaze dropping to Derek's mouth. "Next time I see you, we'll be getting married."

"Sounds like I won't be seeing you for a while," Derek said, mock-serious. He leaned in, saying at Stiles' ear: "But you have my number. And I know how to text." 

"With punctuation and everything?" Stiles laughed. "Who would've thought." 

Their goodnight kiss was simple, sweet. 

"See you in the morning," Derek said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! Whether or not I get the last chapter up next weekend depends on how much writing time I have on vacation. If you want to check for status updates, I'm trelkez on tumblr.


End file.
